When I am from him, I am dead till I be with him
by groovymumma
Summary: "Will?" she tried again, a little louder, but there was still no response. Reluctantly, she cracked open one eye. Shit. She hadn't even made it to bed. It was dark, and she was lying face down in the dirt. Where the hell was she? Does Mac have the hangover from hell? Or is it something worse? Post S2.
1. Chapter 1

_It's been pretty quiet around here lately. I guess a lot of people are hanging out for Season three? I know I am. In the meantime, I thought I'd try my hand at a little romantic suspense, Will and Mac style. Please let me know what you think. Nothing motivates me to keep writing like a review or three!_

_PS. The title is from Religio Medici by Thomas Browne. Not that I have read it, but Dorothy Sayers quotes it in Gaudy Night, and that is one of my favorite books ever (and the main romance has quite a bit in common with Will and Mac, now that I come to think of it)._

* * *

Mac came to slowly, letting out a soft moan as she did so. Oh my goodness, she was never going to drink again. Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding, and she didn't even remember how she'd got herself into this state. This had to be the worst hangover she had ever had.

Will. She needed Will. He would take care of her. She didn't want to open her eyes, as it would almost certainly increase the hammering inside her skull, so she whispered his name softly, hoping that he was close enough to hear her.

"Will?" she tried again, a little louder, but there was still no response. Reluctantly, she cracked open one eye. Shit. She hadn't even made it to bed. It was dark, and she was lying face down in the dirt. Where the hell was she?

Groaning, she tried to bring her hand up to push her hair out of her face so that she could see better, but couldn't even manage that. Something was wrong with her arms. They were – tied behind her back somehow. What the fuck?

Mac had a moment of blind panic as she thrashed around, trying desperately to free her arms. She couldn't move her legs properly either. Oh God, were they tied too? Where was Will? What in the fuck had happened to her?

She rolled on to her side, making her head swim horribly. She breathed faster and faster, fighting the urge to be sick. Her shoulder was pressing painfully into the dirt, and her mind was racing. _Kidnapped._ She must have been kidnapped. Nothing else made sense. _No. No. No._ She opened her mouth to scream, but thought the better of it. They hadn't gagged her, whoever _they _were, so she must be in a place where no one would hear her cries for help. The thought of strangers carrying her unconscious body to wherever she was now, tying her up and doing God knew what else to her inert form, was too much for her. She curled in on herself as best she could, bringing her knees up to her face, and sobbed.

For a few minutes, she knew nothing but black terror, but then her wits started to return. She needed to get a grip, right now. She started with her breathing, which was way too fast. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That was it. Now repeat. She'd been in some tight situations before, and she knew that the first rule of survival was not to panic. She tried to remember anything that she'd learned from her basic hostage training when she was embedded. What was that stupid phrase they kept using? Her brain was dull and sluggish, but with a bit of effort she retrieved the memory. "Passive co-operation, active intelligence gathering," that was what the drill sergeant had told them over and over. Which basically amounted to do what you're told, don't piss off your captors, but learn everything about them and the environment that you possibly can.

Okay, she could do that. She wouldn't think about Will, and whether he knew by now that she was missing. She wouldn't think about what might happen to her, and what it would do to him if she didn't make it out alive. She bit back another sob and forced her groggy brain to focus. First things first. Where the hell was she?

She turned over a bit more, trying to ignore the strain in her shoulders and the way that her bound hands dug into the small of her back. It was almost pitch black, but she thought that she could make out some darker shapes that might be walls. She started to roll towards the nearest one, but stopped, gasping at the pain in her ribs, arms and legs. _Oh God, had they beaten her already, while she was unconscious?_ The thought made her gag, but she fought back the panic once more and resumed her slow progress towards the wall.

She finally bumped against it and used her feet to push herself into a sort of sitting position, leaning sideways against the wall with her cheek resting on the cool bricks and her bounds legs stretched out in front of her. _Bricks_. Maybe she was in some sort of basement? But no, the floor was dirt, not concrete, and she couldn't hear any noise from outside. An underground cellar perhaps? That seemed more likely. The air was cool and musty, although thankfully not too cold yet. It was only the beginning of October, so at least she wouldn't freeze to death. Her eyes were growing more accustomed to the dark, but she couldn't see any doors or windows. For one truly awful moment she thought that they had bricked her in, but then she made out something on the far wall that looked like a flight of stairs leading up to the ceiling. Okay, she'd explore that in a minute, but first she would take stock of herself.

She started with her feet. She still had her Manolos on, and for some reason that gave her a little bit of courage. Her ankles were tied tightly together with thick rope and professional looking knots, and although she couldn't see them, she presumed that her wrists looked much the same. She noted with relief that she still had her pantyhose on. In fact, she was pretty sure she was still wearing the same skirt and blouse that she'd put on for work that morning. Was it only that morning? She had no way of telling, but somehow it felt like the same day.

Her head was clearing a little, but her mouth still felt like a desert. She struggled to reconstruct her memories of the day. She and Will had had a lovely time in the shower that morning, she remembered, because they'd arrived flustered but refreshed just in time for the ten o'clock meeting. There hadn't been anything unusual about her morning, and then she had gone out to meet someone – who was it? That was it, her contact at the DoJ, who'd wanted to tell her something important off the record. Had she actually met Dave? She didn't think so. She remembered trying to hail a cab, and then someone grabbing her arm hard, and then – nothing. She shuddered. They must have drugged her then, or knocked her unconscious, because she couldn't recall anything else until she woke up on the floor of this room. Except for a nightmare feeling of falling, and not being able to save herself, and her head exploding with pain. _The stairs._ Oh my God. Had they thrown her down the stairs, or had she tripped and fallen? Either way, it explained why she hurt so bad all over.

She started to shiver, whether with cold or shock she didn't know. She was just so god damned scared, and all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and pretend that she was safely back in bed with Will. But that wasn't an option. If she ever wanted to feel Will's arms around her again, she had to try and get herself out of this. And the first thing was to loosen the bindings around her wrists. Determinedly, she toed off one of her shoes, wriggled around until she had it behind her back with the stiletto heel pointing up, and went to work on the rope.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you beautiful reviewers and readers! Your comments really made my day._

_Predictions were that Will would not handle this turn of events well. I think you are probably right. So here goes . . . _

* * *

"Hey Will, are you coming to the meeting?"

Will glanced up from his script and saw Jim leaning in the doorway of his office.

"What? Huh? What time is it?"

"It's five past two. Everyone's waiting in the conference room. Are you coming?"

"But Mac didn't come get me yet," answered Will, confused. Mac _always_ dropped by his office on the way to meetings now if they were both going. It was one of the many perks of being married to her. Not only could she hold his entire schedule in her head along with her own, but he was constantly walking into rooms with his arm at the waist of the hottest woman most people had ever seen. It did amazing things for his ego.

"She's not back from lunch yet. I already checked in her office," said Jim.

Will pulled out his blackberry and checked the screen. No missed calls or messages. "That's not like Mac. She never takes long lunches." He hit one to dial her number. It rang four times and then went to voicemail.

"Hello, you've called Mackenzie McHale McAvoy. Leave me a message after the tone. And skip the wisecracks about my name, I've heard them all, okay?"

Will couldn't help a small smile. He rarely got Mac's voicemail message, because she usually picked up for him, but it made him feel about ten feet tall when he did. Damn straight she was Mackenzie Morgan McHale _McAvoy. _That had to be true love, adding another Mc to a name that was already bordering on the ridiculous.

"Hey there, Mrs McAvoy. You're late for the two o'clock. Hope everything's okay. Call me."

He hung up and looked back at Jim. "She's not answering."

"Yeah, I gathered. She's probably still with her Justice guy. That's who she went out to meet. Apparently he's sitting on something big and wants to talk it over with her, strictly off the record. They might have lost track of time, or maybe she doesn't want to cut him off half way through the story."

Will frowned. It still wasn't like Mac to miss a meeting without telling anyone. "Who is he anyway, this Justice guy?"

Jim shrugged awkwardly. "C'mon Will, you know I can't tell you that."

"Yeah, okay, but he's solid, right?" Will respected Jim's journalistic ethics, but he also wanted to know who Mac was meeting.

"One hundred per cent," said Jim, nodding. "Mac's known him for years, and his stuff always checks out."

"You've met him too?"

"Just the once."

"But you can call him, right?"

"I can," Jim admitted reluctantly, "but Mac will chew me out for interrupting."

"You can blame it on me. Tell her that her husband is a grumpy old man who has to know where she is at all times."

"Okay," Jim sighed. "But I will totally drop you in it if I have to." He took his phone out of his pants pocket, scrolled through his contacts, hit the one he was after and turned his back on Will.

"Hey man, it's Jim Harper from ACN. Look, I'm really sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if Mac was still with you? She's not answering her phone."

There was a short pause while Jim waited for the answer, and then he exclaimed "She didn't?"

Will had half-heartedly gone back to his script to give Jim a bit of privacy, but he looked up sharply at the surprised tone in Jim's voice. She didn't _what_?

"She never showed up at all?" Jim was continuing. "And she didn't leave you a message?"

A longer pause this time. Jim was nodding. "Okay, well thanks anyway, man. I'm sorry she didn't make it to the cafe. It's really not like her. I'll get her to call you as soon as she's back in the office."

Jim turned slowly back to Will. He opened his mouth to speak, but Will beat him to it.

"She never showed up? And she didn't call or send him a message?" His voice got louder and louder until he was almost yelling at Jim.

"No, he hasn't heard from her since this morning, but I'm sure she's okay. This is New York, not Afghanistan. She probably just turned her ankle or something. She was wearing those crazy heels again today."

"No, she would have called me if that was it." Will had a horrible, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he tried to stay calm and reasonable. There had to be a hundred good reasons why she could have missed her meeting and wasn't answering her phone. He just couldn't think of any right at the minute.

"I'm gonna go look for her," Will told Jim, standing up. "You run the meeting, and I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Are you sure, Will? Because Mac would probably much rather you ran the meeting. . ."

"Jim," said Will though gritted teeth, "you need to understand that I don't give a _fuck _about the show right now." He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know that you have been through about five war zones with Mackenzie and come out the other side, but I haven't, and I would like to see for myself that she is fine. Okay?"

"Okay, Will," said Jim, holding up his hands as though to calm a crazy person. "You go and wander around aimlessly somewhere between here and Dean & DeLuca while I go run the meeting for Mac so that my ass is not grass when she does come back from whatever she's doing."

Will nodded, ignoring Jim's sarcasm. He was reaching for his jacket when his phone rang. He grabbed it off his desk and looked at the caller ID. _Mackenzie McAvoy_. Oh, thank God.

He answered on the second ring. "Mac, where are you? I was just starting to get worried about you."

"It's not Mac," replied a deep, male voice.

"What? Where's Mac? Is she okay? Who's speaking please?"

The man laughed. "Mackenzie can't come to the phone at the moment. She's a little _tied up_, you could say."

An icy wave of dread washed through Will. No, this wasn't, this couldn't be, surely he wasn't saying that . . .

"Who the fuck is this? I want to talk to Mac _right now_, do you understand me?"

"Oh, I understand you very well, Mr McAvoy," the voice went on smoothly. "And I'm sure that we can arrange to have your most attractive wife returned to you, just as soon as you organize, shall we say, five million dollars for transfer to an offshore bank account. Tomorrow morning should be enough time."

Will exploded. "I want to talk to her _right fucking now!_" he yelled into the phone. "If you've harmed so much as one hair on her head, I will break every single bone in your body and enjoy doing it. You're not getting one red cent until I know that she's okay, you fucking bastard."

"Calm down, Mr McAvoy, or may I call you Will? There's no need for bad language. You'll have your proof of life soon enough, but first we'd like a little proof of good faith from you."

All the fight went out of Will at the nightmare words _proof of life_. "What do you want?" he said hoarsely. "I don't care what it is, I'll do anything, I just want Mac."

"Excellent," drawled the man. "See how well we're getting on now? You will shortly receive our manifesto via email, which you will read at the end of tonight's show, live on air. If you deliver it word for word, exactly as it is written, we will take that as a sign of cooperation and you will receive your proof of life. Until then, I suggest you work on getting the money."

The call cut off abruptly.

"Hang on, wait," said Will desperately, but he was talking to an empty line. Dazed, he looked up to see Jim, standing across the desk from him, his face shocked and his eyes wide.

"Mac?" was all that Jim could get out.

Will stared back at him, fighting for breath, unable to believe that this was really happening. He became aware of the hot tears coursing down his face and wiped them away angrily with the back of his hand.

"They've got Mac." It came out more like an anguished wail than a sentence. He tried again. "They've got her and they won't let me speak to her. She's been kidnapped."


	3. Chapter 3

_Yes, yes, I know the end of the last chapter was a bit of a cliffhanger, but that's not a bad thing, right? Hey, at least I'm posting the next chapter pretty quickly. I am having way too much fun writing this story. I hope you're still enjoying reading it!_

For a long moment Will and Jim were literally frozen with horror. It felt as though there was no more oxygen in the room. Jim recovered first.

"Who are they? What do they want?"

"I don't know who they are. They want money," said Will numbly. "Five million dollars by tomorrow morning. And for me to read some crazy manifesto at the end of tonight's show."

"That's a good sign, Will."

"How the fuck is it good, Jim? _They've got Mac_. We have no idea what they've done to her. We don't even know if she's still alive." He broke off, unable to continue.

"It's good because they are sensible demands. Finite. Manageable. I mean, you can get hold of five million, can't you?"

"Yeah, if I start selling stock now, and take out a loan against the apartment, I should have it in time," said Will. "But I don't give a fuck about the money."

"I know you don't, Will. It's good because it shows that they're planners. They must have done their homework, they know roughly what you're worth. They haven't asked for more than you can get hold of in the time. They're not random crazies."

"Yeah, but you didn't hear this guy's voice. He said that Mac was tied up. Oh God, _tied up_, Jim!"

Jim pressed his hand to his mouth. "Fuck. Fuck."

Will nodded. "I don't know what to do now. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Jim got himself back under control. "Did they say that you can't call the cops?"

"No, they never mentioned it. Is that strange? What does that mean?"

"Probably just that they're cocky bastards. I'll call 911."

"No!" Will's hand shot out to stop Jim using his phone. "Don't do that. We can't do anything that might jeopardize Mac's safety." He tried to get his terrified brain to think. "Charlie! Get Charlie. He knows all that black ops shit."

Jim nodded. "That's good. I'll call him," he said, reaching for Will's desk phone. "I'll email the staff and tell them to go back to work, meeting's cancelled. We should try to keep this as quiet as possible."

"Right up until I go on air tonight and read out some lunatic rant with absolutely no explanation?"

"Yeah, right. Oh fuck, Will, this is not good."

Will dropped his face into his hands, scrubbing at his stupid eyes that wouldn't stop leaking. _Mac_, he thought desperately, as though she could somehow hear him. _Hang in there, my love_. _We're going to get you out of this. I have no fucking idea how, but we will._

Xxx

Mackenzie was sobbing with frustration. She'd been working at the bonds on her wrists for what felt like hours. Her hands and arms were slippery – with blood or sweat, she couldn't tell – but the ropes hadn't budged at all. Will liked to refer to her stilettos as lethal weapons, but the heel just wasn't sharp enough to cut through the fibres. Between the chafing of the rope, and the times that the heel had slipped and cut her instead, she felt as though she didn't have any skin left on her wrists. Her shoulders were killing her too, but she couldn't ease them into a less painful position unless she got these fucking ropes off.

She stopped sawing at her wrists for a minute to wipe her wet face on her knees. _Deep breaths_, Mac, she reminded herself. This was getting her nowhere. Stupidity was trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. She needed a different strategy. _Active intelligence gathering_. Maybe she could find out more about where she was and who was holding her.

Her eyes were definitely seeing better in the dark now, and there didn't seem to be any furniture, or anything else for that matter, in the room. That only left the stairs. She wriggled her shoe back on, and then lay down for another painful, slow roll across the floor. It was even worse this time now that she had fucked up her wrists into the bargain. She could feel them getting caked with dirt, but she didn't stop until she lay, panting, at the bottom of the stairs.

She rested there for a minute, contemplating the awfulness of trying to climb face first up a flight of stairs without the use of her arms or feet. It would probably take all the skin off her knees and chin too. She was summoning up the will to do it anyway when she realised that she could do much better sitting backwards on the stairs and using her bound feet to push her backside up one step at a time.

Mac reached the top surprisingly easily after that, stopping when her head bumped against the hatch in the ceiling. She gave it an experimental shove, but it was firmly shut, and presumably bolted from above. She sat there for a long time, trying to make out any sounds. She was pretty sure there was no one in the room directly above her, but occasionally she thought she could hear male voices in another part of the house (if it was a house).

Suddenly, she heard the hinges of a door creaking open, and she could understand what the voices were saying.

"D'you think I should go down and check on her? She's been quiet for an awfully long time," said the first man.

Mackenzie froze. They wouldn't be happy if they opened the hatch and found her sitting here, but she didn't think she could get down the stairs again in time, either.

"Nah, she'll be fine. She was breathing normally when we left her. The less she sees or knows about us, the better," drawled the second.

"C'mon man, that is one seriously hot piece of ass we've got tied up down there. Where's your sense of fun?"

Mac's stomach heaved. God, she did _not_ want to listen to this.

"Hey, we agreed, no damaged goods. You can buy all the ass you want when we're five million dollars richer. This is about money, not having a good time." The second guy paused. "Although, I gotta admit, winding her husband up on the phone was pretty fun. You should have heard him. He totally lost his shit when I told him that she was _tied up_." He sniggered. "And then a minute later, he's begging me not to hurt her, saying he'll do anything to have her back. I'm telling you, he was so desperate, it was pathetic." They both laughed.

_Will. Oh no, Will._ Mac bit down hard on a sob. She couldn't afford to make a noise now, not with them so close.

"I wish I could see his face when he gets the proof of life photo. His wife, propped up next to the television down there, with him on the screen reading our bullshit manifesto live on air. The irony just kills me."

The first guy was whining now. "Yeah, yeah, fuckin' funny, but if I can't sample the merchandise, at least let me get a pizza from Lenny's."

"Dude, are you completely ruled by your baser instincts? I've got enough canned food for two days, and we should be long gone before then. I'm telling you, McAvoy is gonna come through with the cash, for sure. And in the meantime, no going out."

"I'll get it delivered. C'mon man, couldn't you go some pizza? This kidnapping shit is hard work."

"What if she happens to scream just as you're answering the front door and the delivery guy hears her?"

"No one can hear her down there. We tested it, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was for someone standing on the sidewalk, not in the doorway."

"Well, then, how about you answer the door while I go down and keep her quiet?"

"Okay, okay, I'll do anything if I don't have to listen to you bitching and moaning anymore. Go order your pizza."

The door slammed, and the voices moved away until Mac couldn't hear them anymore.

It was enough though. Her limbs were shaking, and tears were pouring down her cheeks as she bumped her way carefully back down the stairs, but she ignored them. She had her intel, whatever it had cost her in sheer fucking terror to get it. Now she just had to work out the best way to use it.


	4. Chapter 4

_So, on with the story. You know the drill by now. It's Mac. It's Will. It's tense. There will be cliffhangers._

_PS. Thank you so much for the reviews. You really make my day!_

* * *

It took Will and Jim long, agonizing minutes to get hold of Charlie. In the end, Jim accomplished it by telling Charlie's PA that they had a problem that was "worse that Genoa," and they needed him to come _right_ _now_.

Charlie burst through the door of Will's office three minutes later. "What in the hell have you kids fucked up now?" he yelled, before getting a good look at Will and screeching to a halt. "Oh God, it's Mac, isn't it?"

"How did you know?" asked Will in astonishment. "Did you hear something?"

"No, not a thing, but nothing else could possibly put that look on your face. What's happened?"

"She's been kidnapped," said Jim bluntly.

"What?" Charlie burst out. "What the fuck? Holy Mary Mother of God!"

Charlie stood in front of Will's desk for a moment, stunned, before turning to Jim. "Tell me everything you know."

Will was still breathing like he'd run a marathon, but he tried to get his shit together while Jim was recounting the few facts that they had. If he knew Mac, she wouldn't be panicking, and he owed it to her not to panic either. He had to think.

His email! Shit, he'd forgotten to check his email. He logged on, and there it was, right at the top of his inbox. _Subject:_ _Manifesto for tonight's show_.

"Hey guys, it's here, they sent it," he said breathlessly.

The three men crowded around Will's computer to read the email.

It started with _I am a proud white American man that has defended this great country in the past_, and went on in a long, rambling diatribe against the government, liberals, gays, Muslims, feminists, the media and pretty much everyone.

Jim was the first to speak. "No way is legal going to let you read that out on air."

"Then we won't tell legal" said Will flatly. He looked across at Charlie, daring him to contradict him.

"This doesn't leave this room," agreed Charlie. "Jim, let the staff know that you need a five minute block at the bottom of the show. Say that you can't tell them what it's for. Nothing on the teleprompter. Will can read it off the sheet."

"They're crazy," said Will, anguished. "Complete whack jobs."

"Yes, but is the manifesto authentically crazy?" asked Charlie. "It reads more like a cut and paste job from the internet to me. Does it tally with the guy that rang you on Mac's phone?

Will thought for a second. "No, it doesn't. He was scarily sane. Sadistic, but sane." Will shuddered as he recalled the pleasure in the voice telling him that his wife was tied up.

"I can't bear it Charlie. I just can't. Crazy or not, they've got Mac, and we're sitting here talking. And when I read that thing on the air tonight, it's going to raise a red flag with every intelligence agency in the country, not to mention one million home viewers. We have to do something _now_, don't you fucking understand that?"

Charlie laid a hand on Will's shoulder. "Of course I do, son. There's some good people at the FBI who owe me, and I think now's the perfect time to call in a few favours."

xxxxx

It didn't take Mac long to locate the television the guys had been talking about. There was only one place to look for it, after all – under the stairs. It was pitch black under there, which was probably why she hadn't noticed it sooner. She toyed with the idea of turning it on, but rejected it. A plan was starting to form in her mind, and she didn't want to draw attention to herself. She'd have to contend with the man who was upstairs ordering pizza soon enough as it was.

She'd stopped crying, but couldn't seem to help the shudders that were shaking her whole body. Fuck. Why did it have to be the guy who wanted to _sample the merchandise_ that was coming down to keep her quiet? Why couldn't he answer the door to the pizza guy? She'd rather take her chances with the man who had taunted Will on the phone, even though his voice made her skin crawl.

_Get it together Mac_, she told herself. _You're no one's piece of ass_. If she could just survive the next half hour or so, then she'd have until the broadcast tonight to put her plan into action.

xxxxx

Charlie's contacts must have been good ones, because half an hour later there were two hostage specialists from the FBI in Will's office. The shorter one, Special Agent Tanner, went straight to work on Will's cell phone and desktop computer, hooking them up to all sorts of equipment to see whether he could get a trace on the call or the email. He tried tracking down Mac's cell too, but told them not to hold their breath. "If they know anything at all, they will have destroyed the SIM card and drowned the phone straight after they called you."

The taller man questioned Charlie and Jim while he waited for Will to get off the phone to his stockbroker.

"Just dump the stock now, yes, all of it, dammit, I do not give a fuck if the market is down!" Will shouted into the phone before hanging up. He wiped a hand across his face and looked up at the agent expectantly.

The man leaned across the desk to shake Will's hand. "Special agent Mike Jones. D'you mind if I sit?"

Will indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Please."

It was all so surreal, exchanging pleasantries with an FBI agent while his wife was god knows where, tied up, helpless, alone. If she was even alive.

"Now, Mr McAvoy, I'm very sorry to be meeting you at such a distressing time, but please know that most kidnapping victims are returned alive within forty-eight hours of abduction. And the fact that your wife's captors have already made contact, and have reasonable demands, tilts the odds heavily in our favour."

Will wasn't comforted. He was going to smash the next person who tried to tell him that the bastards who had Mac were being _reasonable_.

Agent Jones continued. "What we need from you right now is information. As much as you can give us. I'd like to ask you some questions, and I need you to answer them as honestly as you can. Is that alright?"

"Of course." Will tried to focus. "Ask me anything you want. But shouldn't we be _doing_ something?"

"Agent Tanner is liaising with a team back at headquarters. He'll be feeding them information as we speak. Trust me, we are doing everything possible to return your wife safely to you as quickly as possible."

Charlie sent Jim back out to the bullpen, because the staff had to be wondering what on earth was going on, and after all, they still had to put a broadcast together. Will had to have _something_ to report on for the first fifty-five minutes of the show, before he could get to the manifesto.

Agent Jones started battering Will with questions. Had Mac been acting strangely lately? Had she or Will received threats of any kind? Noticed anyone following them? Had they been in the tabloids?

Will just kept shaking his head. Mac was fine, happy even. Nothing unusual had happened. They'd weathered a pretty big shit storm after Genoa aired, but things had improved once Dantana lost his wrongful termination suit and the whole world knew that he had doctored the footage.

The Agent's line of questioning took a more personal turn. Were they happy in their marriage? Was Mac independently wealthy? How much was Will worth? Were they having money problems? Had Will been unfaithful? Had Mac?

Will tried hard to keep his temper and answer calmly. He knew the man was just doing his job, but none of this was getting them any closer to finding Mac.

The afternoon wore on. Will was like a caged animal, pacing around his office when he wasn't on the phone to his bank arranging loans and money transfers, or answering more of the Agents' endless questions. Charlie and Jim were in and out, trying to pull the broadcast together and maintain some semblance of normality for the staff. They both agreed that Will couldn't set foot outside his office – one look at his face and the whole staff would know, if they didn't already suspect, that something was horribly wrong with Mac.

xxxxx

Even though she'd been listening intently for it, the sound of the hatch opening at the top of the stairs still made Mac jump. She'd worked her way to the far corner of the room, and now she used the wall at her back to push herself awkwardly to a standing position. She would not cower before this man.

He was coming down the stairs, using a torch to light the way. He was dressed all in black and had balaclava over his head, with holes cut out for his eyes, nose and mouth. Mac's heart was beating so hard in her chest that she could barely catch her breath. He looked like a nightmare from a horror movie, but she tried to tell herself it was a good thing. _He doesn't want me to see his face, that means they're planning to let me go._

The man reached the bottom of the stairs and swung the torch beam slowly around the room until he found Mac.

"Well, hello there. What have you been doing to yourself? You're all dirty."

Mac tried not to shrink back into the wall as the man came towards her, shining the torch into her face so that she couldn't see him clearly.

He reached out a hand and wiped at her cheek. "And you've been crying too. There's nothing to cry about, sweetheart. Your arrogant prick of a husband is busy selling off everything he owns to buy you back, and by tomorrow we'll be long gone. You never know, we might even tell someone where to find you."

He laughed at his own joke.

Mac resisted the impulse to tell him to go fuck himself. _Passive cooperation_. She could do this.

"Now then, I just need you to be very quiet for a few minutes while someone delivers my dinner. You can do that for me, can't you?' he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She flinched away from the caress, but made herself nod. Yes, she could be quiet.

"That's excellent. And I know just how to keep that pretty mouth shut."

The hand in her hair tightened viciously. The torch beam dropped down towards the floor, but Mac could see his wet lips and glinting eyes as he leant forward to bring his mouth to hers. She ducked, straining to get away from him, hoping that if she lifted her head fast enough she could hit him in the face with the top of her skull.

Suddenly, up above them, the doorbell rang. She opened her mouth to scream, but the man was too quick for her.

"Shit!" he swore, hitting her across the face with the torch.

Mac's cheek took the full force of the blow. For an instant, her whole body was filled with primitive rage at the pain, and then the floor came rushing up to meet her, and she knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

_Was that last chapter a bit too much? I love Mac, really I do. I don't know why I keep putting her in these terrible situations. I think my next fic will have to be a fluffy one shot full of rainbows and puppies. Or maybe just smut. Smut is good too. _

_Anyhoo, that's a story for another day. Right now, someone needs to work on getting Mac the f**k out of that cellar before more bad things happen._

* * *

"Mr McAvoy? Will?"

He looked up, startled, at Tracey, the hair and makeup assistant. Charlie had called her into Will's office a few minutes after seven to start prepping him for the show. He hadn't introduced the Agents to her, and she'd looked a bit surprised to see them in the room, but hadn't asked any questions as she got to work on Will.

Charlie and the FBI guys had stepped out a few minutes later, leaving them alone. With no more phone calls to make or questions to answer, Will's thoughts spiraled down into darkness. What was happening to Mac right now? Were they hurting her, even as he sat here getting his makeup done? Would they send the proof of life photo? What would it show?

He remembered Mac once asking what it would take for him to reveal his Genoa source. He'd replied that someone would have to be torturing her. Fucking hell, how had he ever thought that torture was a good topic for a bit of gentle flirtation?

Tracey's voice pulled him back to the present. "What is it, Tracey?"

"Are you sure you should be doing the show tonight? I mean, I know it's not my place to ask, and none of us really know what's going on, but it's obviously pretty bad, whatever it is."

"I have to do the show tonight," he said bleakly. "It's non-negotiable." He wanted to tell her that Mac's life literally depended on it, that there was no way in hell he would do the show otherwise with Mac missing, but he couldn't afford to give out that information.

Tracey bit her lip. "Okay, well, this is really awkward, but … is there any way that you could stop crying? I've had to fix up your foundation twice already."

"What?" said Will, puzzled. He lifted his hand to his cheek, and sure enough, it came away wet. This was ridiculous. Enough was enough. He had to pull himself together now, man up, and do this for Mac.

"It's okay Tracey," he told her. "You can keep going. I won't mess it up again."

xxxxx

This time, Mac came back to consciousness with a gasp of fear. Was _he_ still here? Despite her sore cheek, she turned her head quickly from side to side, searching the darkness. Alone. She was alone. She let out a ragged breath. But what had that man done to her body while she was out? She remembered his gleaming lips and cruel eyes, highlighted by the blackness of the balaclava, and shuddered.

She squirmed some more, testing for new injuries. There was her cheek, obviously. The aches along her left side seemed to have flared up, too, but that could just be from hitting the floor again. She still had all of her clothes on, and for the first time she was actually glad that her legs were still tied together. She started to weep softly. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. Why should she have to be grateful that he hadn't raped her, that he had only knocked her unconscious again?

Eventually, her despair wore itself out, leaving behind calm resolution. She had one shot at this. She'd paid dearly for her information, and now was the time to use it. She knew her plan was risky, and prayed that Will would forgive her if it didn't come off. But she couldn't just lie here helplessly, waiting for that man to come down again. She had to try something.

xxxxx

Will did the broadcast like an automaton. Charlie had directed the team to cancel all guests and put together as many packages as possible, so there wasn't a whole lot for Will to say. Jim queued him up with as few words as possible, when he did have to speak. He appreciated the kid's consideration. Jim had to be freaking out almost as much as he was, but he was still sensitive enough to know that if Will couldn't have Mackenzie's voice in his ear, he didn't want anyone's.

Finally, it was time to read the manifesto. Charlie and Jim had agreed that Will couldn't just launch into it with no explanation, so he led in with some bullshit about trialing a new segment in which they would give five minutes to a different interest group each night to have their views aired on national television. Then he looked down at the paper on his desk and began to read.

"I am a proud white American man that has defended this great country in the past …"

As he read, he felt a white hot rage kindling in him, and welcomed it. How dare they? How dare they take Mac, and tie her up, and treat her life like a bargaining chip? And how dare they take her show, her beautiful show that she had worked so hard for, and turn it into a mouthpiece for bigotry and hatred? And all for what? Crazy ideology, or just plain greed? Either way, he was going to fucking annihilate them. Scorched earth. There would be nothing left of them when he was through.

As he reached the last few lines, he raised his head and looked straight into the camera lens. He wanted them to see the hatred in his eyes. He didn't need the paper anyway—he had gone over the manifesto so many times, looking for clues, that he had it by heart.

"It is our belief that not until we have rid ourselves of the scourge of liberals, the gay mafia, the Jewish cabal, the feminazis who seek to suppress the rights of the ordinary man, that we will once again be able to call this country great. God bless America."

There was total silence in the studio as Will stopped reading. No one moved or spoke. Will broke it by smashing his fist through the piece of paper and into the plywood of the anchor desk. He didn't need a bourbon bottle this time. He was bigger now, and stronger. He would tear them apart with his bare hands.

He stood up to get more purchase, and hit the desk again. It splintered a little, but it wasn't enough. He started kicking the wooden supports. This was the anchor desk that he'd sat behind to sell out every one of Mac's principles in a pathetic attempt to save her life. He never wanted to see it again.

He kept at it until Jim grabbed his shoulders and got right up in his face.

"Will!" Jim shook him. "You have to stop this right now."

Will stared blankly at him.

"We have to check your email," Jim went on more quietly, so that only Will could hear. "They're going to send the proof of life, remember?"

Without a word, Will bolted for his office, Jim following on his heels.

Charlie and the Special Agents were already there, standing around Will's computer.

"Did they send it yet?" Will asked breathlessly.

Charlie shook his head.

Will threw himself into his desk chair and started refreshing his inbox over and over. Jim squeezed in between Charlie and the Agents so that he could see the screen too.

Tense minutes later, Will's computer pinged, signalling new mail. _Subject: Proof of Life_.

The body of the email was blank, but there was a single attachment. With trembling fingers, Will clicked on it.

The photo opened on the screen. Will started at it for a long minute before bending over and emptying the contents of his stomach into the wastebasket under his desk.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you lovely readers and reviewers! I am getting the message that you want Mac out of their NOW, which I'm sure is what Will wants too, so let's see if we can make some progress …_

* * *

The photo showed Mac sitting on a dirt floor, one shoulder leaning against an old television set. Her face was covered in dirt, tear tracks, and bruises. Her left cheek was purple and swollen. She was still wearing her work clothes, although those too were coated with dirt. Her arms weren't visible—they were pulled tightly behind her back, presumably bound. Her legs, also bruised, were angled out to the side away from the television set, knees bent, ankles tied with thick ropes. Her shoes were missing. She was staring straight at the camera, and on the television screen next to her Will was reading the news.

"Oh God," said Charlie brokenly. Jim just stared, horrified, at the monitor.

Will stopped retching and sat up, wiping his mouth. "They've hurt her," he whispered. "She's hurt."

"Yes, but it could be worse," said Agent Jones. "There are some good signs."

Will gaped at him. Was he fucking high?

"She's alive, and relatively unhurt," the Agent. "She's fully dressed, and her legs are bound, which makes sexual assault unlikely."

Will flinched, and Charlie laid a hand on his shoulder.

"That's definitely tonight's broadcast, isn't it?" Jones continued.

"Yeah," said Jim, finally finding his voice. "I mean, we've never had a reason to put 'Manifesto' at the bottom of the screen before."

"Okay, so as of five minutes ago, Mackenzie was alive."

_Alive_. Will clung to that thought. She was alive, and relying on them to get her out of there. Now wasn't the time to think about how she had got all those bruises. Even though his mind couldn't think about anything else. "Okay, what do we do now?"

The Agent indicated the trash basket under Will's desk with his foot. "Well, maybe someone could–?"

"I've got it," said Jim, picking up the bin and carrying it into Will's bathroom, holding it as far away from his body as possible. They heard the sound of the toilet flushing, and then Jim returned without the bin. Will hoped he wouldn't need it again.

"Thanks," said Agent Jones. "We need to get as much information from this photo as possible. You three know Mackenzie best. What do you make of her expression?"

Will forced himself to look at the photo more closely. He tried to see past the dirt and bruises, and focus on Mac. _Her eyes_. He had spent countless hours looking at those beautiful brown eyes. He knew every expression she had, from her crinkly-eyed smile of joy, to the wide-eyed, wounded deer look he had seen far too often in the years when he was still punishing her. But this one was harder to read. Maybe because it was a _fucking proof of life photo_.

"She's scared," he concluded. "She's fucking terrified, but trying hard not to give those bastards the satisfaction of seeing her fear."

Jim nodded. "I agree with Will. I've seen that look before, in Afghanistan."

"Anything else?" the Agent pressed. "Come on guys, this is important." As if he needed to tell them that.

A memory tickled at the edge of Will's brain. There _was_ something else in her eyes. Where had he seen that expression before?

It took him another minute to get it. "I know that look. She does it in rundown meetings sometimes, when she's leading up to a big story. She knows she's the smartest person in the room, well except maybe for Sloan, and that's the face she does when she's willing us to make the leap with her—before she has to spell it out for us mere mortals. She wants us to notice something," he finished in a rush.

"Okay, that's good. What does she want us to notice?"

Will, Charlie and Jim looked at each other blankly. The kidnappers had used a flash, so there was a small circle of light around Mac and the television, and something that could be a flight of stairs just above her head, but the rest of the shot was dark. What else could they possibly notice?

"What about the way she's sitting?" Agent Tanner spoke up for the first time. "Very straight, with her torso facing camera, and her legs out to one side."

"How the fuck else do you expect her to sit with her arms tied behind her?" Will snapped.

"What I mean is, normally you'd expect a more defensive posture from someone who's been, well, beaten …"

Will made a sound as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. Charlie swore.

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to upset you more than you already are, but I do think it's strange that she doesn't have her legs pulled up to her chest. And does she normally point her toes like that?"

Will looked again. "She did used to do dance," he said, "but no, she's not in the habit of sitting like a prima ballerina."

He followed the direction of Mac's pointing toes, and suddenly, he saw it. Right at the edge of the pool of the light, where it was starting to merge with the darkness, something was scratched into the dirt.

"Look." He leaned forward and touched the screen. "There."

The men all leant in to see. Jim grabbed Will's mouse and zoomed in on the patch of dirt.

"What is that?" said Charlie. "It looks deliberate, like writing, but I can't read a word of it."

"I don't think it's in English," said Agent Jones.

"No," said Will. "It's Russian."

''You speak Russian?" asked the Agent, astonished.

"No," said Will, smiling for the first time in hours. "But Mackenzie does."

xxxxx

While Agent Tanner uploaded the photo to his own laptop, and sent it back to his team for analysis, Jim and Charlie rang around the ACN building looking for a native Russian speaker who hadn't gone home for the night. Jim finally tracked down a programmer from Moscow in the IT department.

Will opened his office door to the guy a short time later and shook his hand. "Please, come in Dimitri. Thank you for helping us out at such short notice. I imagine you know Charlie Skinner, and this is Jim Harper. Don't worry about the others," said Will, dismissing the Agents with a wave of his hand.

Dimitri looked a little taken aback to be meeting the Anchor of News Night and the Director of the News Division, but he recovered well.

"What can I do for you, Mr McAvoy?"

"We want to show you a message that we think may be written in Russian. It's vitally important to a story that we're breaking. We'll obtain a certified translation, of course, but we can't afford to wait for it. Will you take a look at it for us?"

"Certainly," said Dimitri, standing a little taller. "I'd be more than happy to help. Where is the message?"

"It's on my computer," said Will, pulling out his office chair for Dimitri to sit.

Jim had zoomed in as far as possible and then locked the image, so that Dimitri wouldn't see Mac. All that was visible were some scribbles in a patch of dirt, as though a kid had been doodling with a stick.

Dimitri stared at the image for a minute, a frown of puzzlement creasing his brow.

"If you can't read it, or if you're unsure of the meaning, it's vital that you don't guess," said Agent Jones. "Lives could literally depend on the content of this message."

Dimitri looked up at him. "Oh, I can read it okay. The Russian is very clear, there's no problem translating it. I just don't think that it's going to help you much with your breaking story."

"What does it say?" asked Jim, Charlie and Will, all at once.

"It says, 'They got a pizza delivered from Lenny's.'"

Jim gasped, but no-one spoke. Charlie ushered Dimitri quickly from the room, handing him a hundred dollar bill and telling him that his career progression at ACN was assured. Once the door had closed behind the programmer, the room erupted.

"That's our girl!" Charlie shouted.

"I knew she wouldn't panic" said Will, grinning like a loon.

"They must be holding her in Brooklyn," said Jim. "Y'know, near Lenny's pizza over on Park Slope."

Agent Tanner was talking excitedly into his cell phone.

"I can't decide if your wife is a genius, or just crazy brave," said Agent Jones, shaking his head.

"Both," said Will smugly, before sobering as he took in the full import of the Agent's words. "She's taken a big risk, hasn't she, to get us this information? What happens if they notice? What will they do to her?"

"It's a risk, I agree, but a calculated one. They obviously didn't notice while they were taking the photo, or they never would have sent it. Now that they have sent it, they really have no reason to look at it again. And I'm sure your wife was clever enough to rub out the marks in the dirt the first chance she got."

Will nodded. Mac _was_ crazy brave, but she scared the shit out of him sometimes with her risk taking. "You have to get her out of there _right now_ before something goes wrong."

"Lenny's is pretty popular," said Jim. "They've probably delivered a few hundred pizzas since lunch time."

"Jim's right," said Agent Jones. "It's a good beginning, but we have to narrow it down further. We can't send SWAT teams to hundreds of houses just because they ordered a pizza."

Will started to argue, but Charlie cut him off. "Pull up the original photo again," said Charlie. "Maybe our girl's got something else for us."

They started at the photo again, Will feeling sick and helpless as the euphoria left his body. They were so close, but so far. _Where are you, Mac?_

He studied his own face on the screen of the television. He hoped that seeing him had given her some measure of comfort, although if she got out of this alive she was going to kill him for reading out that crazy manifesto on her show. _Her show_.

Slowly, mirthlessly, he started to laugh.

"What is it, Will?" asked Charlie, concerned.

"Those bastards," said Will. "Those cocky fucking bastards. They've got cable."

"Of course they've got cable, Will," said Charlie. "You wouldn't be in the proof of life shot otherwise."

"You're not thinking straight," said Will. "They're ACN subscribers. We've got their names on our database."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you beautiful guest reviewers— I'm so glad you liked the Russian! And thank you to Sueg5123, Rachel2016, fanficfanuk and KendraBC for your continued encouragement._

_It's starting to get a bit claustrophobic in Will's office–maybe it's time for a change of scene?_

* * *

After Will's announcement, a lot of things happened at once.

Charlie rang ACN's Head of IT at home and informed him that he was going to find a way to transfer the entire cable news subscriber database to the FBI in the next thirty minutes, if he still wanted to have a job in the morning.

Agent Tanner got back on the phone to his team, instructing them to find a judge, get a subpoena and get hold of Lenny's pizza delivery logs for the last ten hours.

Agent Jones paced around the room, addressing random comments to Will as he walked. "This might actually work", "if we cross reference the pizza deliveries with your database we shouldn't have more than a dozen addresses to work with," "we can narrow it down even further if we rule out homes that don't have some kind of basement or cellar," and once, with a trace of humour, "Your wife _is_ a fucking genius."

Will sat at his desk, watching the frantic activity going on around him, too frightened to let himself believe that they might actually get Mac out of there tonight, that by morning he could be holding her in his arms.

And Jim, who had been so heroic up until that point, collapsed on Will's sofa, silently shaking.

Twenty minutes later, the Agents were gone. Jones left his card on the way out and instructed them to "sit tight, we'll take it from here."

"Like that's gonna fucking happen," Will snorted as soon as the Agents were out of earshot. "Scooter, are you okay there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Jim, pulling himself back up to a sitting position. "I'm sorry about that. It's just, you know, it's Mac …"

"Of course I know. Listen, have the rest of the staff gone home?"

"I don't think so. We haven't told them anything, but they're investigative journalists. Some of them will have put two and two together after you read out that manifesto."

"Good. Round up as many of them as you can, and have them monitor the news wires, the police scanners, the internet, anything. Get the senior staff to work their NYPD contacts without sending up any more red flags. If anyone so much as sneezes in Brooklyn tonight, I want to know about it."

"I can do that," said Jim, standing and heading for the door. He looked relieved to have something constructive to do. He stopped in front of Will's desk, reaching out a tentative hand. "We'll get her back, Will."

"I know we will, kid," answered Will, grasping his hand for a moment. Sure, they were both lying to each other, pretending a confidence they didn't feel, but that was okay. Will still didn't entirely understand the nature of the bond between Jim and Mac, but he knew that it ran deep.

Charlie followed Jim out and returned a short time later, carrying a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. He put them on Will's desk and poured a healthy slug in each.

Will grabbed one and tossed it off in a single swallow. It burned all the way down to his empty stomach, the fire contrasting with the cold in the rest of his body. Charlie followed his example.

Will held out his empty glass for a refill, but Charlie shook his head and withdrew the bottle.

"Just one tonight, son."

"The fuck, Charlie? Since when do you ever stop at just one?"

"Believe me kiddo, once our girl is safely back with us, I'm gonna drink the whole fucking liquor cabinet. But for tonight, we have to have clear heads. Mac's depending on us."

"So what do we do now?" asked Will.

"We wait."

xxxxx

The call came through from one of their NYPD sources just after two in the morning. The FBI had requested NYPD assistance to set up a one block perimeter on Second Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenue. They were sending a SWAT team to a hostage situation.

Charlie had had a driver on standby all night, and within minutes he and Will were speeding through the deserted streets towards Brooklyn. Jim had tried to come with them too, but Charlie had finally convinced him to stay in the Newsroom and feed them updates instead. Charlie figured that if things went to shit, he'd have his hands full with Will, without worrying about Jim too.

As they pulled up to the police roadblock on Sixth Avenue, they saw that quite a crowd had gathered, despite the lateness of the hour.

"Fuck!" Will spoke for the first time since they had left the ACN building. "We need to get closer."

"I'll pull some journalistic bullshit and distract the NYPD officer while you sneak past," Charlie offered.

Will nodded, and stepped out of the car. The night air was cold, and he quickly did up his coat. Mac had to be freezing by now in her flimsy blouse and skirt. _Please God, not much longer_, he prayed. _Please just watch over her until they can get her out of there_.

Charlie pushed through the crowd and flashed his press pass at the officer on duty. He started demanding to know what was going on, while Will skirted the edge of the crowd and ducked under the tape.

Charlie was good. Will got half way to the SWAT vans parked in the middle of the cordoned-off street before the NYPD officer spotted him and shouted for him to stop. Will ignored him and kept running.

He ducked down behind the first van and found himself face to face with Agent Jones, who did not look pleased to see him.

"Mr McAvoy. I distinctly recall telling you to sit tight."

"I know Agent Jones, but I just couldn't. I'm sorry."

The Agent gave him long, hard look. "No you're not."

Will thought it best not to answer that accusation. "Please let me stay," he begged. "I won't get in anyone's way. It's just that, if you get Mac out of there, she might need me."

The Agent sighed. "Okay, but you do not move from behind this van, no matter what goes down, until I give the all clear. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Agent."

"Because if you so much as stand up or call out, I will have you arrested for impeding a federal investigation. Besides, if you do anything to tip off the kidnappers that we're here, you could be putting your wife's life in jeopardy, as well as the lives of my men. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

The Agent gave him one last glare, and then, still in a crouch, moved over to the next van where two more FBI officers were waiting.

"Both teams in position?" he asked quietly. The men nodded.

Jones raised his walkie talkie to his mouth. "Listen up men. I'm about to give the order to go. Remember the briefing. The hostage should be in the cellar, and her safe retrieval is your top priority. You are authorised to use force if necessary."

"Copy that, sir."

"Good luck, guys. On my count. Three, two, one, Go!"

Will couldn't see a thing from behind the van, but he strained to hear what was happening across the street.

There was a sound of splintering wood as though a door was being kicked in, and then booted footsteps entering at a run. After that, there was only silence. _C'mon, shouldn't they have got her by now? What's taking them so long?_

Suddenly, the cold clear night was rent by gunshots, five or six in quick succession.

_Mac! _Will managed to choke off the cry at the last second, but in his head he was screaming her name over and over. She couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees. _Mac, _he keened desperately as he started to rock backwards and forwards, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. _Mac._

Minutes or hours later, he felt a tentative touch on his shoulder.

"Mr McAvoy?" It was Agent Jones. "They've got her."

"What?" Will looked up, not understanding.

"She's alive. They're bringing her out now. She's okay."

"But the gunshots?"

"The kidnappers were both armed. They shot first and my men returned fire. Both suspects are dead."

Will could barely process what the Agent was saying. He returned to the vital point. "Mac's alive?"

The Agent smiled. "I've given the all clear. Why don't you come and see for yourself?"

Will didn't need to be asked twice. He pushed himself up from the ground, and despite his shaking legs, dashed around the van towards the house.

An officer in full SWAT gear was coming down the steps, carrying someone wrapped up in an FBI jacket.

"Mac?" Will yelled, running towards them.

"Billy? Is that you?"

Will's heart started beating again. It was her. _She was alive_.

He met them just as they got to the bottom of the steps and reached out his arms for Mac. She turned her head towards him, tears of relief shining in her eyes, but she didn't hold out her arms to him.

"Mac, it's okay, it's me, I've got you now," he said, trying to take her from the man.

The officer shook his head and held on to Mac as he kept walking. "Mr McAvoy, if you'd just like to follow us to the ambulance—"

The jacket slipped a little from Mac's shoulders and Will saw why she hadn't reached out for him.

"What the fuck, man? She's still tied up!"

"It seemed more important to get her out of there alive," said the officer dryly.

Will wiped his face with his hand. "Of course, I'm sorry. I'm not thinking straight. Thank you, so much. We owe you everything."

By this time they'd reached the ambulance, and the officer motioned with his head for Will to get in first. Will sat on the end of the gurney and reached out once more for Mac. This time, the officer handed her over.

Will lifted her onto his lap and took her gently in his arms. _Finally_. He wanted to crush her against his chest, but he had no idea how badly she was injured. There was a light inside the ambulance, and he got a brief glimpse of her poor, battered cheek before she burrowed her face into his neck.

"Billy, oh Billy" she whispered against his skin. He could feel her whole body trembling.

"Mac" he said brokenly, pressing kisses into her hair. "Oh, my love."

The officer removed his jacket from Mac's shoulders. Will got his first look at her bound and bloodied wrists. He took deep breaths, trying not to explode with anger. He mustn't do anything to scare her now. If she could bear it, he could bear to look. Except that it was _fucking unbearable_, seeing Mac like this.

The officer touched Mac gently on the shoulder, but she only burrowed deeper into Will. "Mrs McAvoy? I'm going to cut these ropes off your arms now. I can see that you spent a long time trying to loosen them, but I want you to be prepared. It's actually going to hurt more when I remove them, before it gets better."

"Mac," she said quietly, without moving her face from Will's neck.

The officer looked confused. "Mrs _Mac_Avoy?"

"She's not correcting your pronunciation," Will explained. "She's inviting you to use her first name. Mac. Mackenzie."

"Oh, I get it. Well, Mackenzie, are you ready?"

She nodded against Will.

It only took the man a few seconds to cut through the ropes with a pair of bolt cutters. As the ropes fell away, Mac started to move her arms forward, but stopped abruptly. Will felt her body stiffen and heard her inhale sharply.

"Shhh, love, it's okay, you don't have to move them until you're ready," he told her, instinctively massaging her shoulders to ease them. He prayed that he wasn't pressing on more bruises, but he couldn't just leave her in pain like this.

After a couple of minutes she relaxed against him once more, and inched her arms slowly around his waist. He rubbed her back and kissed her hair again. "That's it, Mac. That's my brave girl."

"I'm going to untie your legs now, Mackenzie," the officer told her. "This shouldn't be nearly so bad."

Once her legs were free, the EMT stepped up and introduced himself. He coaxed Mackenzie to turn her face away from Will's chest long enough to shine a light in her eyes. He felt the pulse in her neck, and took her temperature, but gave up on the blood pressure reading when she wouldn't move her arms from around Will's middle.

"Okay, Mackenzie, your vital signs are good. Now, if you could just lie down on the gurney for me, we'll get you strapped in and off to hospital.

Mac clutched frantically at Will. "No, please don't let them take me, Billy. I can't lie down. I can't be strapped in, I just can't."

"No one's going to strap you down, Mac, I won't let them," he told her, glaring at the EMT. "I'll take you to the hospital myself if I have to."

"I don't need the hospital," she whimpered into his jumper. "I just want to go home. Please, take me home, Billy."

He still didn't know how badly she was injured, but he couldn't deny her anything when she was like this. "Okay, Kenz, it's okay, sweetheart. I'll take you home."

He let go of her for a second to shrug out of his coat and wrap it around her shivering frame. It was far too big for her, and she looked so small and broken that his heart turned over. Lifting her gently in his arms, Will stood and stepped out of the ambulance. Mac clung to him, as though he were the only thing anchoring her to the world.

Will found Agent Jones, who was just turning away from debriefing his men.

"I can't thank you and your men enough for getting Mac out of there safely, and risking your lives to do it," Will told the Agent. "But now I need to take her home."

"Are you sure that's the best idea?"

Will felt Mac tense in his arms.

"Yes, Mac always has the best ideas. I presume you can send one of your people to us?"

"Okay," the Agent relented. "Who's on SVU tonight?" he called out to one his men.

"It's Doctor Fields."

Jones smiled as he turned back to Will. "She's one of the best. You'll be in good hands. How are you getting home?"

"Charlie Skinner's here with a car."

"Okay, I'll have one of my officers tail you."

"I'd appreciate that," said Will. "I'll make arrangements for a private security detail, but they probably won't be able to start until morning."

"I'll ask my man to wait with you until then."

"Thanks Agent Jones. For everything."

"Just doing my job," the man shrugged. "Speaking of which, I'll be around tomorrow, well actually later today, to take Mackenzie's statement."

"Only if she's up to it," Will countered.

"Of course," said Jones. "I just need to ask Mackenzie one question now, and then I'll let you go. Mackenzie, did you hear or see anything that gave you an indication of their motive?"

For the first time, Mac turned her face away from Will so that she could look at the Agent. Will couldn't see her expression, but her voice, when she spoke, was dead. "Money. They just wanted the money." She shuddered. "And possibly the kicks. They weren't terrorists, or ideologues, or anything like that."

"Thanks Mackenzie, that's good to know. Try to get some sleep for what's left of the night, and I'll be round later to talk to you."

Mackenzie just nodded and curled into Will once more.

"Now, how about you take your brilliant wife home?" said Agent Jones.

So Will did.


	8. Chapter 8

_So, the last time I wrote a story like this one, some reviewers were a bit disappointed that Mac went home with Sloan instead of Will. I hope this makes up for it! A nice, long chapter of Will fussing over Mac, with more to come… _

* * *

It was almost four in the morning by the time they got back to their apartment. The man that Agent Jones had sent went up first to sweep it, while they waited in the car.

"Are you coming up, Charlie?" Will asked.

The older man was sitting in the front seat, next to the driver. He turned so that he could see Will and shook his head. "I'll call later to see how Mac's doing, but right now I think you kids just need each other."

Charlie knew him well. Mackenzie really was the only thing that he needed in this world, and the thought that he had almost lost her made his throat seize up. He nodded and swallowed hard. "Thanks, Charlie."

Mac was curled up in Will's lap in the back seat of the car. She'd had a bad moment when Will had tried to do up the seat belt around the two of them, but she'd calmed down again when he'd desisted, and had been pretty silent for the rest of the drive.

Charlie reached back to gently touch her shoulder. "You know how much we all love you, Mac. I've never been gladder of anything in my life than when I saw them carrying you out of that building tonight. You're a fighter. You'll get through this."

Charlie's eyes were suspiciously moist as he finished. Mac nodded but didn't answer. Will caught Charlie's gaze over the top of Mac's head. _Take care of her_, was the message he read there. _Of course_ he would. As if he could do anything else, now. It hadn't always been that way, but he'd spent his marriage to date trying to atone for those years of cruelty to Mac, even before she was kidnapped. He was terrified that this was one hurt that he couldn't heal, no matter how hard he tried.

The FBI officer knocked on the car window, and Will briefly moved his hand from Mac's back to open it.

"The apartment's all clear. You can take Mrs McAvoy up now. I'll wait down here in the lobby, and send Dr Fields up when she gets here."

"Thanks, officer."

Charlie got out of the car and came round to Will's door. It was a bit awkward for Will to get out of the car without letting go of Mackenzie, but between the two men they managed it somehow.

Charlie pressed a kiss to the top of Mac's head and told her that she was the bravest girl he knew. He'd promised Will that he would take care of the security arrangements, so he stayed in the lobby to talk to the FBI guy about handing over to the private security detail. Will headed straight for the elevator.

What were they supposed to do now, Will wondered, as he rode up to their apartment, still holding a far too silent Mac. At least her shivering had subsided a little. Maybe the coat had helped.

"Mac, sweetie, what do you need first?"

"The bathroom," she whispered.

_Of course. _She'd been tied up for more than twelve hours, she must be desperate. He kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner, but he'd been so focused on getting her home as quickly as possible.

"Did they give you anything to eat or drink?"

She moved her head side to side, _No._

"Oh Jesus, Mac, I'll get you something as soon as you're done in the bathroom. What would you like?"

"Just water," she said faintly.

He had no idea whether she could walk or not, so when the elevator doors opened into their apartment, he carried her straight through to the ensuite.

"Do you, uh, need a hand?" he asked tentatively. He was a little unsure of the protocol to follow when your wife had been kidnapped, held to ransom, tied up, beaten and then freed in a shootout by the FBI.

"I think I can take it from here," she said, with just a hint of her usual dryness.

"Okay, well, I'll be right outside if you need me." He set her carefully on her feet, and hovered for a moment to make sure that she could actually stand by herself, before retreating to the bedroom.

The toilet flushed a few minutes later, but Mac didn't reappear. Will crossed to the bathroom door and knocked. "Sweetheart, are you okay in there?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know if you're okay? Please, can I come in now, Mac?" said Will, trying not to sound panicky.

"Uh, yeah, I guess…"

Will opened the door. Mac was standing in front of the basin, staring down at the water, seemingly paralysed.

This was the first time that Will had really _seen_ her since she'd been rescued. It was too dark when they carried her out of the house, and then after that she'd been pressed so tightly to his body that he couldn't really see the extent of her injuries. But now, in the harsh bathroom light, they were only too apparent. She was coated in dirt, but it didn't hide the bruises on her legs, and face, and pretty much every patch of skin that wasn't covered by her blouse and skirt. _What the hell had they done to her?_ Her cheek was a vivid, angry purple, but worst of all were her arms. Most of the skin was missing from her wrists, her beautiful, delicate wrists, and blood and dirt had run in tracks all the way down her sleeves to her elbows. He could see gaping, open wounds in the shape of bracelets where she'd fought against the ropes, and long, deep gouges running perpendicular to them, caused by God knows what.

Will fought down the bile that rose in his throat.

"Mac, sweetheart, what is it?"

"I don't know if I can wash my hands," she said helplessly, gesturing at the basin.

"Of course you can, love," said Will, stepping forwards. "I'll help you if you can't do it by yourself."

"No, I mean, the doctor will probably want to gather forensic evidence. I don't know if I'm allowed to wash them or not."

"Don't worry about that now," he said, although he was really thinking _fuck the forensic evidence_. "You go ahead and wash them, Mac. I'm sure the doctor won't mind."

She nodded, and lowered her hands slowly into the water. He noticed that she was careful not to submerge her wrists.

Will held out a towel for her to dry her hands, and then guided her back to the bedroom. He had no idea what to do while they waited for the doctor. He sat down on the bed, and Mac instantly climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Will let out a sigh of relief. He had guessed right.

"Mac, honey, can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"I had some water from the faucet. Don't leave me alone, Billy," she said, clinging tighter.

"It's okay, Mac, I won't leave you. I'm not going anywhere."

The intercom buzzed a few minutes later and Will hit the button on the wall unit next to the bed.

"Yes?"

"Mr McAvoy?" It was the FBI guy from the lobby. "Dr Fields is here now. May I send her up in the elevator?"

"Of course. Please tell her to come straight through to the master bedroom."

"Will do."

The elevator dinged soon after, and a voice called out "Hello? Mr and Mrs McAvoy?"

"In here," Will called back, not moving from his position on the bed.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and then a small, energetic, red haired woman entered the room. She was wearing a grey pantsuit and wheeling a large medical bag behind her. Will judged her to be in her mid-fifties, and she projected an air of calm competence. Will relaxed a little. She'd know what Mac needed.

She put her bag down, nodded briefly to Will and then crossed over to kneel beside the bed so that she was on a level with Mac.

"Mrs McAvoy? Or may I call you Mackenzie?" she said gently. Will noticed that she didn't reach out to touch Mac.

Mac lifted her head and looked at the doctor. "Mac is fine."

"Mac, I'm Dr Fields, please call me Aileen. I'm the FBI doctor on call tonight."

"Thanks for coming, Aileen," said Mackenzie quietly.

"Thank you for allowing me into your home. I'm here to make sure that you don't need to go to hospital, and to treat your injuries. If I can gather some evidence too, that would be a bonus, but your wellbeing is my first concern. I will ask your permission every step of the way, and if you tell me to stop at any time, I will stop straight away. Do you understand?"

Mac nodded.

"Okay, well, let's get started. Would you like your husband to stay?"

"Yes, please," said Mac, gripping Will tightly.

"That's fine. I may ask you to lie down on the bed at some point, if you feel comfortable doing that, but you can still hold hands. Does that sound okay?"

Mac nodded more slowly this time, biting her lip. For whatever reason, she seemed to have decided that Will's arms were the one safe place in the world, and he wasn't going to argue with that.

The doctor started with the same checks that the EMT had carried out, although she had more success in coaxing Mac to hold out her arm for the blood pressure cuff. She was as good as her word, asking Mac's permission to look in her eyes, take her temperature and feel her pulse.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and smiled. "Very good, Mackenzie. Your vital signs are all fine. You're a little cool, but it's nothing that a hot shower won't fix. I think you're probably a bit dehydrated too. Have you had anything to drink?"

"A little water."

"Okay, if I get you something else now, do you think you could drink it?"

"I'll try."

"There's some juice in the fridge," Will suggested.

The doctor ducked out and returned a minute later with a glass of orange juice. Will held it for Mackenzie, and she managed to drink about half of it before she turned her head away.

"Well done, Mackenzie. Now, I don't want to subject you to a full examination, so perhaps you could tell me what injuries you have? Apart from your wrists, of course."

"I have lots of bruises…" Mac said quietly.

"Do you know how you got them?"

Will tensed.

"Uh, I think they pushed me down the stairs. Or maybe I fell? I think I was drugged at the time. I just remember falling, and not being able to save myself, and then the pain."

_And the terror_, Will added mentally. They'd tied arms behind her back, and then pushed her down a flight of stairs. _Oh God._

Dr Fields' face didn't betray any shock. She probably heard this kind of thing all the time.

"That's good, Mackenzie. I'll check your bruises, and draw some blood to try to find out what drugs they gave you. What else?"

"My cheek hurts. He—" Mac broke off, took a deep breath, and tried again. "One of the men hit me in the face with a torch. He was trying to keep me quiet because the pizza guy was at the door."

"Okay, I'll have a look at that too. Is there anything else?"

Mac started to shake her head, but stopped and pressed her hand to her mouth.

"Mackenzie," said the doctor very gently, "do I need to examine you for sexual assault?"

Will's stomach clenched. _No. Please God, not that. Not Mackenzie._

"I don't know," said Mac on a sob. "One of the men, the one that hit me, told his friend that he wanted to 'sample the merchandise'. I don't think he did, but I was unconscious twice…"

"And I imagine that you'd like to know for sure, so how about we get that over with first?"

"Okay," Mac sniffed.

"I might ask Will to step out for a minute. Most people find this less distressing without their significant other in the room."

"Mac?" said Will. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Maybe you could get me something to eat?"

"Sure," he said, controlling his voice carefully. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Will stared blankly into the refrigerator. What on earth was the appropriate food to get your wife while she was being examined to see whether she had been raped or not? He wanted to sweep every damn jar and bottle off the shelves just to hear them smash on the floor, but he restrained himself.

In the end, he settled on mac and cheese, which was Mackenzie's favourite comfort food, and carried it back to the bedroom. He knocked on the door.

"All done," called the doctor. "You can come in now."

Mackenzie was lying on the bed, with the duvet pulled up to her chest. She was very pale, but not crying. "It's okay, Billy," she said simply.

"Absolutely no sign of sexual assault," the doctor confirmed.

Will's head swam with relief. He crossed to the bed and kissed Mac's forehead. "Thank God for that. Uh, I brought you some mac and cheese."

He sounded like an idiot, even to himself, but Mac rewarded him with a small smile. "Just put in on the bedside table. I'll eat some when we're done."

He opened his mouth to coax her to eat it now, but shut it again. The doctor was letting Mac make all the decisions; he figured he should do the same.

He sat on the side of the bed and held Mac's hand while the doctor pulled back the duvet and checked her injuries. She gave Mac an instant cold pack for her cheek, and examined the bruises on her arms and legs. She spent a long time pressing on Mac's ribs, which made Mac wince and squeeze Will's hand tighter.

"I don't think there are any breaks," the doctor said eventually, "but you could have one or two cracked ribs. I can't say for sure without an x-ray, and I won't ask you to go to hospital to have one, but if you start getting a stabbing pain in your side, or you can't breathe, you'll need to call an ambulance, okay?"

"I'll make sure of it," said Will. He didn't want to force Mac to do anything, but he wasn't taking any chances with her health, either.

The doctor drew some blood from the inside of Mac's elbow, and put the vial in her bag. She took some white pills out of a container and held them out to Mac.

"I recommend that you take these now. It's only a mild painkiller, but I would like to treat your wrists soon, and it will take the edge off the pain."

"I don't know…" said Mac, sitting up.

"They won't make you feel drowsy or drugged in any way. You'll still be in control."

"Okay," said Mac reluctantly. She took the pills and swallowed them down with some water.

"You're doing great, Mackenzie," said the doctor. "Would you like to get out of those dirty clothes and take a shower?"

"Yes, please," said Mac.

"Good. I only have one thing to ask you first, and you're not going to like it, I'm afraid."

Will glared at the doctor. What now? Couldn't she just leave Mac alone?

"I would like to take a couple of photographs of your injuries for evidence."

"No way!" Will exploded. "Don't you realise that eight hours ago those bastards were taking fucking proof of life photos? You can't ask that of her."

Mac had gone even paler, and she was squeezing Will's hand in a death grip. Her eyes were wide and terrified.

"What do you need them for?" she eventually got out. "The kidnappers are dead."

"I know, Mackenzie, and I understand your reluctance, but the kidnappers were shot by FBI agents, which means an automatic investigation, and possibly a trial. A jury will be much more sympathetic to the officers if we have solid evidence of harm to you."

"And you'll make sure that they don't leak?" asked Mac.

"My camera has built in encryption software. I'll check them into evidence myself, and then delete them. I promise they won't get out."

"Okay," said Mac, looking at Will. "Let's do this."

In the end they settled on three photos: one of Mac's face, one of her bruised ribs, and one of her wrists. The doctor turned the flash down as far as possible, but Mac still flinched every time it went off. When they were done, Will pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently while she shook.

When Mac seemed a bit calmer, the doctor held out a plastic evidence bag to Will.

"Will, why don't you help Mackenzie get out of those clothes. You can put them in this bag, and she can have that shower now."

Will reached out and took the bag.

"Mackenzie, if you could wash the worst of the dirt from your wrists, that would be great. It will hurt, I won't lie to you, but not as much as if I try to do it for you."

"I'll see what I can do," Mac promised.

She stood up, and Will knelt to help her out of her pantyhose and skirt. When that was done, he gently unbuttoned her shirt and slid it off her shoulders. He bit back an oath at the bruises covering her arms, back and shoulders.

"I can manage the rest," she said softly, heading for the bathroom in her bra and panties. She walked gingerly, as though every part of her body hurt.

When the door had closed behind her, Will sank back onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

Doctor Fields touched him on the arm and offered him a tissue.

"You did a great job, Will. You both did. Mackenzie will recover from this. She's a very strong woman."

Will looked up, surprised. The doctor could still tell that, even though Mac was so silent and subdued tonight?

"Most people in Mac's situation are either hysterical or catatonic by this point. She's holding it together incredibly well. I noticed the scar on her abdomen…"

"It's an old war wound," Will answered, blowing his nose and pulling himself together. "She was embedded in Afghanistan for a while."

"So she has some experience with trauma. And she has you, too. She obviously trusts you to keep her safe."

A pained look crossed Will's face. "It wasn't always that way. I've hurt her in the past"

"You've been physically violent towards Mackenzie?" asked the doctor, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"No! Of course not. I would never hit a woman, not ever. But she hurt me once, and I was cruel to her for a long time before I forgave her," he finished sadly.

"And now?" asked the doctor.

"I love her more than you can imagine. I'd do anything to spare her what she's gone through tonight."

"You can't do that, Will. But you can keep on supporting her, trusting her to make her own decisions—"

The doctor broke off as a sharp cry came from the bathroom. Will rushed for the door and banged on it. "Mac? What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Will," she replied, before gasping again. "It's just," another gasp, "my wrists. It hurts when I hold them under the shower. I'll be okay in a minute."

Will turned back to the doctor, seeking help.

"She's doing great, Will. It's probably easier for her to hurt without you watching."

Will took some deep, steadying breaths. "Okay, Mac," he called through the door. "Just yell if you need me. I can be in there in a second."

"I'm fine, Billy."

He stood by the door, unwilling to move further away from Mac.

The doctor came up to him. "I promise this is the last thing for tonight, Will, but it's going to hurt Mackenzie a lot when I treat her wrists, and I need you to be strong for her."

"For Chrissakes, can't you just leave her alone?" Will lashed out. "Haven't you done enough?"

"I wish I could Will, but if I don't remove all the rope fibers and dirt from those wounds, they will get infected. And if that happens, she will be scarred for life. Do you want her to flash back to tonight every time she looks down at her own hands?"

"No, of course I don't. I'm sorry. Tell me what I have to do."

xxxxx

Mackenzie padded out of the bathroom a few minutes later. She'd washed her hair, put on an old t-shirt of Will's, and wrapped herself in his robe. She looked a lot cleaner, although there were lines of strain around her eyes.

"Hey sweetheart," he said, summoning up a smile and opening his arms for her. "Why don't you let me hold you while Dr Fields fixes up your wrists, and then you can finally get some sleep."

Will sat on the end of the bed as the doctor had instructed him, and Mackenzie straddled him so that she was facing the other way, her arms held out behind Will's back. The doctor sat on the bed behind Will.

He knew as soon as she'd started picking out the dirt, because Mac's whole body stiffened. He pulled her head into his neck, smoothing her hair with one hand and holding her close to him with the other. He tried to suck the pain out of her and into his own body, but of course it didn't work. The doctor kept working, and Mac flinched, and shuddered, and whimpered. Will could feel her tears soaking his jumper.

Eventually, it was done. Dr Fields showed Will how to dress the wounds, and then he helped Mac to lie down in the bed, tucking her in carefully with the duvet and reminding her that she still had the mac and cheese to eat.

"Maybe in the morning," she said tiredly, her eyelids drooping.

Will walked the doctor as far as the bedroom door. "Can you see yourself out?"

"Of course," she said. "All the best, and to Mackenzie too. You're an amazing couple."

"Thank you," said Will, shaking hands with her. "Thank you for taking care of Mackenzie."

When the doctor was gone, he stripped off his clothes and slid into bed next to Mac. She was almost asleep already, so he drew her very gently towards him and nestled his face in her hair. He had dreamed of this moment every second since that terrible phone call, and it was hard to believe that it was finally here.

The sun rose over the horizon a few minutes later, but neither Will nor Mackenzie saw it. They were fast asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you amazing readers and reviewers. Almost there with this fic, I think. A couple more chapters after this one should do it. I hope you are still enjoying it!_

* * *

Will woke around lunchtime. He came awake on high alert, grabbing for Mackenzie, but she was draped over his chest, in the deep sleep of the truly exhausted. He eased her gently back onto her side of the bed. He wanted her to sleep for as long as possible. She stirred a little, and he nudged his pillow closer to her. She cuddled it to her chest, and sighed as she slipped back into sleep. He couldn't help but smile. She seemed so young sometimes, despite all her hard news experience.

The light was streaming brightly in through the floor to ceiling windows, so he pulled the blinds as he shrugged into his robe.

Once in the kitchen, he started the coffee maker and rummaged around in the fridge for something to tempt Mac's appetite when she woke. She hadn't eaten since breakfast yesterday, and it was starting to worry him.

He make her a fresh fruit salad and topped it with her favorite Greek yogurt. He whipped up some batter for French bread, ready to go for when she woke up. He took comfort in the routine tasks—it was better to concentrate on the food than dwell on the events of the night before.

Mac wandered into the kitchen just as he was frying the first piece of French toast. Her cheek looked awful this morning, and she was moving even more carefully than the night before. His gut twisted. He had far too many memories of his mother walking just like that after a bad beating.

"Sore?" he asked sympathetically.

She groaned. "I think I was running on adrenaline last night, but now everything just hurts. A lot."

He pulled her into a hug. "My poor darling. If you like, I can send out for some Arnica ointment to rub into the bruises. It helps a lot. Warm baths are good too, but not too hot or it makes the bruising worse. And if you can move around a little, your arms and legs won't stiffen up as much."

She looked up at him, surprised. "How do you know so much about—?"

He saw the sadness in her eyes as she figured it out.

"Oh Billy. I don't know how you survived it, let alone came out the other end as a whole person. It was only a day and a night for me, but it was your whole childhood."

He shook his head. "Don't compare the two. It's not the same."

"No, it's worse. It wasn't personal for me. They were strangers, they just wanted the money—"

_And other things_, Will thought, but didn't say.

"But it was your own father hurting you."

"Don't think about it now," Will said. He didn't really talk about his childhood with anyone, not even Mackenzie. "Let's just focus on getting you better. Oh shit, the toast!"

The smell of burning egg filled the kitchen. He let go of Mac and grabbed for the fry-pan.

"Sorry love, I think that one's only fit for the trash. Sit down, I'll make you another one."

Mac didn't eat a great deal, but she did manage a bit of the fruit and a piece of the toast. Will didn't push her; it was probably hurting her to chew.

Will checked their phones while she ate. They had lots of messages and missed calls, but most of them could wait.

"Charlie rang to see how you were," he told her. "Your folks called too. They sound pretty frantic."

Mac frowned. "Could you call them back and reassure them for me? I'm not really up to talking to anyone right now."

"Of course. What are you going to do?"

She shrugged. "I guess reading the paper is out. And the TV news too."

"I'm pretty sure we'll be the lead story for the next few days," he agreed.

Mac wrapped her bandaged arms around herself. Will was used to the attention that came with being a public figure, but he knew how much Mac hated being in the news. She'd had more than her fill of it with the whole Genoa debacle.

"C'mon, why don't you get comfy on the couch with a Jane Austen? I'll bring your coffee."

"Okay," said Mac. "I have to do something until the FBI come to take my statement." She didn't look too thrilled about that either.

Will got Mac settled on the couch with a throw rug, a bunch of pillows and her battered copy of _Emma_. He kissed her on the forehead and then went to the kitchen to clean up breakfast. When he came back fifteen minutes later to check on her, he noticed that she was still on the first page of the book.

"Mac, sweetheart, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired," she said, shutting the book and putting it on the coffee table. "Sit with me for a while?"

"Of course." He raised her up a little and sat down on the couch, lowering her head back into his lap. She turned her face towards his stomach and wrapped an arm around his waist.

He stroked her hair softly, and gradually felt her body relax against his. Her breathing evened out, and she slept.

He was amazed that she was sleeping so well—both of them tended towards insomnia, especially in times of stress. Still, she must have burned about a month's worth of cortisol and adrenaline in the last twenty-four hours, so maybe it was to be expected.

The intercom buzzed a short while later. _Damn_. Not the FBI already. He wanted Mac to rest, and he definitely didn't want her to have to rehash the nightmare events of yesterday just yet.

He slid out from under Mac and crossed to the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Will? It's Lonny Church."

"Lonny! You're our security detail?"

"Yeah. Well not just me, because Charlie Skinner ordered 24/7 protection for you two, but I'm in charge. Don't worry, I'll only pick guys that I've worked with before, guys that I trust."

"Thanks Lonny. I really appreciate that, and I know Mac will too."

"How is she?"

"About as well as could be expected, I guess. She's sleeping at the moment."

"Jim Harper's here. He wants to come up and see her."

"Tell him no visitors for today. Maybe tomorrow."

"Hang on." There was a minute of silence, and then Lonny came back to the intercom. "He's insisting on coming up."

_Insisting_? That didn't sound like the Jim Harper that Will knew. "Put him on."

"Hi Will, it's Jim. Look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude—well actually, I do mean to intrude, but only for a little bit. I need to see Mac."

"I'm sorry, kid. I know you two are close, but she's just not up to visitors today."

"I'm not a visitor."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not a visitor. I sat by her hospital bed for a week after the stabbing, and she helped hold me down while an army medic dug shrapnel out of my butt. I'm not a visitor."

Will ran his hand through his hair. "I don't want her upset."

There was a long silence; long enough for Will to recall all the times he'd deliberately hurt or humiliated Mac in the newsroom while Jim looked on.

"Okay, I heard how ridiculous that sounded. You can come up for a minute, but just be quiet. She's asleep."

The elevator doors opened shortly after and Jim stepped out. Will pointed to the couch where Mac was sleeping.

Jim stood over her for a long minute, his face inscrutable, before bending down and tenderly kissing her hair.

Will motioned him into the kitchen.

"How badly is she hurt?" Jim asked bluntly.

"The doctor didn't make her go to the hospital. She might have some cracked ribs, and she's covered in bruises. The kidnappers tied her arms and legs and then pushed her down the stairs."

Jim closed his eyes, as though in pain. "What else?"

"Her wrists are a mess. I haven't asked her how they got so bad, but she obviously fought against the ropes pretty hard."

"That sounds like Mac. How is she, you know, mentally?"

"I don't know. Quiet, subdued, clingy. Not at all like the Mac we're used to. But the doctor said she was holding it together amazingly well in the circumstances." Will remembered something that Jim had said earlier. "What was she like after the stabbing?"

Jim shrugged. "I dunno. She was pretty out of it on pain meds for the first couple of days, and calling for you a lot—"

Will winced.

"But once she knew where she was, she was kinda normal. Joking about the stabbing, wanting to get out of bed so that she could chase the next big story. She was a bit more cautious once we got back in the field, not quite so ready to throw herself into danger, but she was still Mac."

"This is different, though," said Will. "What they did to her—I'm glad they're dead, but then again I'm not, because I want to kill them myself."

Jim just nodded. "I'll go now. Thanks for letting me come up. I needed to see her."

"I understand," said Will, reaching out to shake Jim's hand.

After Jim left, Will called Mac's parents and talked them down from getting on the first plane to New York. He knew Mac wouldn't appreciate the fussing. He rang the pharmacy too and ordered in a supply of bandages, ointment and painkillers. Then he wandered aimlessly around the apartment. It was only Tuesday, and Charlie had told him to stay off the air until at least the following Monday. He didn't want to leave the apartment and the safe bubble that he was trying to create around Mac, but that didn't mean he knew what to do with himself either. He and Mac weren't used to spending much time at home during daylight hours.

The intercom buzzed again later in the afternoon, and this time it woke Mac up. It was Agent Jones and Agent Tanner. They wanted to take Mac's statement. Will tried to refuse, but Mac touched him gently on the shoulder. "It's okay, Will. They can come up."

Mac thanked the Agents for rescuing her, and showed them through into the study. Will tried to join them. "I'm her attorney as well as her husband," he told them, clutching at straws. "You can't deny her legal representation."

"Will, it's okay," she said, eyes pleading. "I'd rather do this alone."

He remembered the doctor's words from the night before, about it being easier for Mac to hurt without him there to see it. She was probably right. With one notable exception, which was now behind them, Mac was always so careful of his feelings, so attuned to anything that might hurt him. He gave in, but not with good grace.

"I don't want her upset," he told the agents with a glare. "And no more than half an hour. She's exhausted, and injured." He turned to Mac with a softer tone. "I'll be right outside. All you have to do is call out if you need me."

She gave him a wan smile and sat down at the table with the Agents. One of them placed a tape recorder in front of her, and Will reluctantly left them to it, closing the door behind him. He set the kitchen timer for thirty minutes, and paced up and down the hallway.

The little that he knew of what had happened to her was almost unbearable to him, and now she was having to rehash the whole thing in front of two complete strangers, without anyone there to support her. What if she broke down? Would they call him? He strained his ears, but could only hear voices talking softly. He couldn't make out what they were saying.

As soon as the timer went off, he pounded on the door. "That's enough," he called. "You've had your half hour. You need to stop now."

Agent Jones opened the door. "Okay, okay, we were just finishing up."

Will pushed past him to get to Mac. She was white as a sheet, and tears were pooling in her wide eyes, although she wasn't exactly crying. She stood carefully as he entered and he put a protective arm around her shoulders. He could feel the fine tremors shaking her body. He wanted to yell at the Agents for upsetting her, but he forced it down. These were the guys who had rescued Mac, after all.

"Thanks Mackenzie," said Agent Tanner. "You're very observant, and you have amazing recall."

"She works in the news," Will pointed out.

"I know. I only wish we were half so lucky with most of our witnesses." Will appreciated the fact that he wasn't using the word _victim_. "We'll get your statement typed up and have it couriered around tomorrow for you to sign, if that's okay with you?"

"That's fine," Mac said quietly. "Thank you both for everything that you did to get me out of there."

"It was a pleasure, Mackenzie," Agent Jones said, smiling at her just a little too warmly. "You did most of it yourself."

Will rolled his eyes. God, did every guy that she met have to fall under her spell? She was completely oblivious to it most of the time, and Will could never decide whether to be jealous or just really proud that she had chosen him.

Will showed the Agents out and then went back to the study, but Mac wasn't there. He searched the apartment and finally found her curled up in their bed, under the comforter. She was shaking like crazy now.

"Mac, sweetheart?" He touched her shoulder, and her skin was cold as ice.

"Billy, I'm so scared," she said between chattering teeth.

_Damn_. He knew he shouldn't have left her alone with the Agents.

"It's okay Mac, I'm here, I won't let anyone hurt you." Pausing only to kick off his shoes, he climbed into bed with her and wrapped his body around hers. He held her for a long time before sleep claimed her once more.


	10. Chapter 10

_Evening, all. As you can see, I've finally gotten around to posting this chapter. I'm a bit lacking in motivation at the moment, so please take a moment to review if you're feeling generous. Hope you like it!_

* * *

Will didn't know what had gone down in the interview with the FBI, but when Mac got up the next day, she was like a ghost. She ate her breakfast mechanically, and got into the warm bath that Will ran for her without protest. She sat patiently while he changed the bandages on her wrists afterwards, and the whole time, she barely said a word.

Will wracked his brains for something they could do. He turned on the television, but had to switch it off almost immediately. It seemed that even dayside couldn't resist the sensational story of a TV Anchor reading out a crazed manifesto live on air to save his wife and Executive Producer's life.

Eventually they settled down on the couch again, this time with a bunch of old movies. Will didn't think that Mac was paying much attention to them, and to be honest he wasn't either, but it gave him an excuse to just sit and hold her.

They'd had so many calls that Will had switched off both their phones, and he knew that he could trust Lonny to keep people away from the apartment. Lonny only buzzed up once, just after lunch, to tell them that Sloan and Don had come to visit. Will sighed. Lonny always did have a soft spot for a beautiful woman, especially one who admired his pecs.

Will was about to deny them, when Mac spoke up from the couch and said that she'd like to see Sloan. It was the only wish that Mac had expressed all day, so he didn't argue. "Send them up, Lonny."

Sloan and Don were both dressed down in jeans, and Don was holding a bunch of flowers, which he passed to Will. Don managed a small smile, but Sloan looked as though she'd been crying recently. She headed straight for the couch and pulled Mac into a tight hug.

"Oh Jesus Mac, it's so good to see you. We were all so scared, you have no idea."

_Well that was a dumb thing to say_, Will thought. Sloan suffered from serious foot in mouth disease in social situations.

"How are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sloan."

Sloan pulled back from the hug and inspected Mac's face. "You don't look fine." Her gazed dropped to Mac's bandaged wrists. "What about your arms? Are they very bad?"

Mac just shrugged.

"Can I see?"

"Sloan!" shouted Will, dumping the flowers on a side table and starting forwards at the same time as Don.

"It's okay, I don't mind," said Mac, slowly unwinding one of the bandages.

When it was completely unwrapped, exposing Mac's raw and tortured wrist, Sloan gave a gasp of shock. She knelt in front of Mac, holding her injured hand gently, before burying her face in Mac's lap and bursting into noisy sobs. Mac just stared straight ahead, her eyes dry.

_Well fuck_, thought Will. _What on earth am I supposed to do now?_

Don must have been having similar thoughts, because he froze half way to the couch. He recovered after minute and placed his hands on Sloan's shoulders, easing her away from Mackenzie.

"C'mon Sloan, you're scaring Mac. How about we all have a coffee and then we'll leave you guys in peace?"

Will made the coffees with Don in the kitchen while the two women sat together in the lounge.

"How's the show going?" he asked Don quietly.

"It's running fine. The staff are pretty shaken up, as you can imagine, but everyone's doing their job. Mac has them well trained," he observed with a wry smile. "No one wants to cover the kidnapping, but we kind of have to. We're mostly doing it as packages, and we're getting staff from other programs to put them together so that our people aren't too traumatised."

"That's a good idea," said Will. It was exactly what Mac would do. She was sensitive to others' emotions, but she also knew how to get the show done.

"Elliot read out a statement last night apologising for the manifesto, but I don't think there'll be too much trouble over it. It's hard to see what else you could have done in the circumstances."

Will just shrugged. He should probably care more that he had read out a piece of racist, sexist, homophobic hate speech live on air, but frankly, he didn't. He wasn't a good person, or an ethical person like Mac was, but he did know how to protect the people he loved. He would do far, far worse if it was necessary to ensure Mac's safety.

"Of course, ratings are through the roof," Don continued. "Almost three million viewers last night. I don't think anyone's talking about Genoa anymore."

"Don," said Will deliberately, "if you are suggesting that there is any kind of a silver lining to Mac's kidnapping, I will beat the ever living shit out of you."

"Cool it, Will," said Don, holding up his hands defensively. "I love her too, you know. We all do. How is she, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Will. "Physically, she's hurt pretty bad." He swallowed hard. "Emotionally, it's difficult to say. I feel like she's shutting down."

"Maybe she's still in shock?"

"Maybe." Will slammed down his coffee cup in frustration. "I just don't fucking know. I have no idea what she needs."

"I think she just needs you, Will. You're doing a great job looking after her."

Will shook his head. "We'd better get back in there before your socially inept wife does something else to freak Mac out."

xxxxx

The FBI courier dropped round later with Mackenzie's statement. There were two copies, he explained, one for her to sign and one for her to keep.

Will and the courier waited in the kitchen while Mac sat at the bench and read it over. She started off speed reading, her elegant fingers skimming rapidly over the text. Will noticed that her hand faltered in a couple of sections, and he almost went to her, but resisted the urge. The sooner she got this over with, the better.

She signed her name on the last page and looked up at the courier, her face blank. "Yes, that's all correct. Thank you."

Will showed the man out and came back to the kitchen. Mac was staring at the spare copy of the statement as though it was a bomb that hadn't detonated yet. "I guess we just file it?" she asked hesitantly.

"Mac," he took a deep breath, "would it be okay if I read it?"

She looked up at him, shocked. "Why would you want to do that?"

_Because you're my wife and I don't know what the fuck happened to you and I can't work out what you need,_ he thought, but didn't say.

"Because that way I'll know what happened without you having to relive it again."

She pressed her hand to her mouth. "Okay," she finally nodded. "But not now, Billy."

"Not now," he agreed. "Give it to me, and I'll put it somewhere safe."

In the end, he didn't get a chance to read it until Mac was asleep in bed that night. He crept out of the bedroom, collected the statement from the study and some bourbon and a glass from the kitchen, and headed out onto the balcony. The statement was starting to feel like an unexploded bomb to him too. He didn't know whether he could handle the impact, but he was going to take a leaf out of Mac's page and hurt locker it anyway.

He sat in his favourite chair and knocked back two fingers of bourbon for courage. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he'd given up as a wedding present to Mac. Unable to delay any longer, he turned to the first page and started reading.

Every page brought a new punch in the gut. She'd woken in the cellar, thinking she was hung-over and at home, and had called out for Will to help her. Then realised that she was tied up. She had no idea what they had done to her while she was unconscious. She'd taken to her own wrists with the heel of her stiletto in a desperate attempt to free herself, and had kept at it in spite of the blood pouring down her hands. She'd listened to them debating whether to rape her or not. Then the man who wanted to do it had come down the stairs in a balaclava to shut her up.

Will broke off at that point and groped blindly for the bourbon. _Fuck, just fuck_. Taking a beating from his old man hadn't hurt half as much as reading this. He poured himself another generous slug and forced himself to pick up the paper again.

Mac had gambled everything on his knowledge of her and left him a message in Russian (not English, because she reasoned the kidnappers were more likely to notice something written in their own language). She'd prayed that he would forgive her if the risk didn't come off. The men had eventually come down and dragged her over to the television like a trussed pig. She was beyond terrified that they would see the message, but she'd forced herself to stare down the lens of their camera, and tried to block out their taunts about how hot she looked and what her precious husband was going to think of the photo.

By the time he'd finished, Will felt as though the top of his head was going to explode with rage. The thought of those two men touching his wife while she was tied up, or even unconscious, made him want to smash everything in sight. If he couldn't kill the fuckers, then he wanted to pull Mac into his arms and never let her go again. He didn't want her to see him like this, though.

_Habib_, he thought. _Surely this counts as a genuine emergency_.

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialled his number with shaking fingers.

"Will?" Jake answered on the fourth ring.

"I'm sorry, is it too late to call?"

"Not at all. I was going to ring and see how you and Mackenzie were going, but I didn't want to intrude."

"Have you got a few minutes to talk now?"

"Of course. How are you holding up?"

"I'm about to explode here, doc. I need you to talk me down."

"Why don't you start by telling me what's going on. Where is Mackenzie right now?"

"She's asleep in bed."

"Okay, that's good. And what are you doing?"

"I'm out on the balcony. I just read the statement that Mac gave to the FBI yesterday." He gave Habib a brief recap of the contents, his voice breaking in the worst bits.

Jake blew out a long breath when he was done. "Wow, Will, I'm so very sorry that happened to Mac, and to you too. How is she doing?"

"I don't know. She hasn't cried since the night she was rescued, and everyone keeps saying how well she's holding it together. But I feel like she's slipping away from me. At first I seemed to be the only thing that gave her any comfort, but now I feel like even I can't reach her. She just stares at a book, or the television, but you can tell she's not taking anything in. She hardly speaks. You should have seen her when her friend Sloan came over today. Sloan was so upset by the sight of Mac's wrists that she started sobbing all over her, and Mac just sat there, looking straight ahead like some beautiful, sad Madonna."

"I think that's pretty understandable in the circumstances, Will. She's acutely traumatised—you both are."

Will sighed. "Yeah, but she's usually so strong. Vulnerable, but strong."

"And you think those two things are incompatible?"

"I don't know, Doc. I'm not really up for a philosophical discussion tonight."

"I get that, but this is important. Mac is one of the strongest people you'll ever meet, because she _allows _herself to be vulnerable."

_Bloody hell_. Habib had met her a few times since their marriage, and he'd obviously decided to sign up for the Mackenzie McHale fan club too.

"What exactly are you getting at?"

"Look, Will, you had a fucked up childhood, and it taught you never to show fear or vulnerability, lest you get hurt even worse. What do you do when someone challenges or threatens you?"

"I get angry. I lash out. I get defensive. You know all this shit already."

"Okay, and what does Mac do? What did she do for those six long years when she was waiting for you to forgive her?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do, Will. She made herself emotionally available to you every one of those days. She sent you all those emails and messages, and when that didn't work, she came back to work for you, to help you succeed professionally if that was her only option. She never made a secret of her feelings for you. She left her heart open to you every day of those six years, and no matter how many times you hurt her, she never withdrew her love. Yet she didn't become needy or bitter or dependent, either. She's too strong for that. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

"Look, I know that Mac is the best thing that ever happened to me, and that I probably don't deserve her, but none of this is helping me figure out what she needs now."

"That's not what I'm saying Will, not at all. You have an incredible reserves of strength yourself to have survived you childhood and Mac's betrayal with your capacity to love intact."

"So tell me what to _do,_ for fuck's sake."

"What are you doing right now?"

Will almost growled in frustration. "I'm drinking bourbon and trying not to think about how _fucking terrified_ my wife must have been while she was tied up in a _fucking cellar_, okay?"

"How many drinks have you had?"

"Just two."

"Are you going to have any more?"

"No, Mac might wake up and need me."

"Have you starting smoking again?"

"No. I would, if there were any in the apartment, but sending out for cigarettes feels like betraying Mackenzie. You know, she got kidnapped and I couldn't handle it so I took back her wedding present and started smoking again."

"You're not getting drunk, and you're not smoking. I'd say that's a pretty good effort in the circumstances. How else are you looking after Mackenzie?"

"I field phone calls and visitors so she doesn't have to deal with them. I've been making all her favourite meals, even though she's not eating much. I change the bandages on her wrists, and rub arnica into her bruises, and help her get dressed and undressed. Mostly, I just hold her a lot. I think we both feel better when I'm holding her."

"Will, I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit here. Losing Mackenzie once almost destroyed you, and losing her again has to be your greatest fear in life."

Will didn't answer. He couldn't get any words out past the huge lump in his throat.

Habib seemed to understand. "And on Monday night, you had to face that fear head on, because there was a very real possibility that you would never see her again."

Will started to sob. He couldn't help it.

"Hey, Will, it's okay, just let it out."

"Call me back in five?" he heaved.

"Okay Will, stay safe."

By the time Habib rang back, Will had calmed down enough to be mortified that he had cried over the phone.

"Hi Will. I really think you should come in and see me when you can, but I'll understand if you can't leave Mackenzie at the moment."

"I can't, doc. Neither of us is ready for that."

"That's okay. You're doing an amazing job of looking after Mac while keeping it together yourself."

"Why do I feel like I'm losing her, then? She must need something else."

It was Habib's turn to sigh. "Will, when Mac was kidnapped and tied up, she experienced the most fundamental loss of something that we usually take for granted."

"What?" asked Will, his stomach knotting.

"Control. Everyone likes to be in control of their own lives, especially type A personalities like you and Mackenzie. But when those men took her, drugged her and tied her up, she lost even the most basic control over her own body. She literally couldn't move her arms or legs. She couldn't go to the bathroom, or leave the cellar. She couldn't even control whether she was conscious or unconscious. And if those men had decided to rape her, or kill her, or even go away and leave her there to die, there was nothing she could do about it, and she knew it."

"Oh God," said Will. "It sounds even worse when you put it like that."

"An experience like that is bound to do some damage. But I'm pretty confident that she'll get through it. She's strong, and she has you."

"Yeah, but she's like a ghost. She's holding it all inside, not letting anything out. Surely that has to be bad for her?"

"Will, it's probably not safe for her to let it out yet. She's holding on to control as hard as she can right now, because her psyche needs to assert that she can, that she isn't vulnerable and helpless anymore. You don't need to look for a way to tear down her defences. They'll come crumbling down all by themselves, once she feels safe enough."

"Okay, thanks," said Will grudgingly. "That was actually kind of helpful, even if it did take you ages to get to the fucking point, as usual."

"Any time, Will," said Habib, sounding faintly amused. "I'm here for you, and for Mackenzie."

"I really should get back to her now. I don't like to leave her alone for too long."

"I understand. And Will? You're doing a great job. Mackenzie is very lucky to have you, too."


	11. Chapter 11

_The last chapter. Finally made it! Thank you so much for encouraging me to keep going to the end._

* * *

Will came slowly awake the next morning, enjoying the warmth of the comforter and the sound of Mackenzie's regular breathing. Thank God, it wasn't a work day, he could wake her in their favorite way…

He rolled towards her, reaching out an arm and cracking his eyes open. Mac was sleeping on her back, her arms flung wide and her brown hair spilling over the pillow. She was wearing a tank top, and her slim shoulders and arms were as beautiful as ever, apart from the _fucking great purple bruises_ on them, not to mention the bandaged wrists.

Talking to Habib must have helped, because Will had slept deeply enough to forget for a moment what had happened to Mac, but now it all came rushing back. It wasn't some lazy Saturday morning, and he couldn't possibly make love to his wife while she was hurt like this. He had no idea how long it would be before she felt up to it again. What if those fuckers had made her afraid of his touch, too? He didn't know if he could bear that, but he'd have to, for Mac. He'd wait as long as she wanted, even if it killed him.

Mac woke a short time later with a groan. "Will, you have got to stop watching me while I sleep. It's creepy."

He couldn't tell whether she was joking or not. "I'm sorry Mac. It's just—I'm so grateful that you're here. It reassures me to look at you, you know?"

"I know." She pulled him down to her and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before letting him go.

She pushed the comforter back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. He noticed that she was moving a bit more freely this morning.

"Why don't you have a proper shower and a shave today?" she asked, looking back at him. "I know you've been rushing the last couple of days so that you won't have to leave me alone."

It was true. Apart from when they'd had visitors or he'd talked to Habib, he'd barely left her side for more than two minutes since they'd been home.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said in a voice that was almost convincing. "Take your time. I'll start breakfast."

He didn't exactly dawdle under the steaming hot spray of the shower, but he did take the time to wash his hair and shave. He hadn't done more than splash and towel off since Monday morning, and he was starting to look a bit ragged.

He was pulling his track pants on when he heard the crash from the kitchen, followed by a cry from Mac. He sprinted through the hall, his heart in his mouth.

Mac was standing next to the kitchen bench. On the floor around her were the remains of a broken glass jar of peanut butter. Her arms were wrapped so tightly around her middle that Will could see the tendons standing out on the backs of her hands, and she looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes as he screeched to a stop.

"Mac, sweetheart, what's wrong? Did you cut yourself on the glass?"

She shook her head.

"Don't move, okay? Just stay there while I get a broom and sweep this mess up." He couldn't stand the thought of her adding even the tiniest cut to the injuries already marring her porcelain skin.

It was the wrong thing to say. Mac shook her head frantically, and her breathing got even faster.

Will took a step towards her, his arms reaching out, but stopped when he saw that she was about to step back into the broken glass to get away from him. "Mac, for God's sake, stand still!"

"I can't!" she burst out. "Don't you get it? I can't stay still, I have to get away, he wants to _sample the fucking merchandise!_" She bent over double, still hugging herself, and started to keen.

Will opened his mouth to tell her to stay there while he got his shoes, but shut it again, guessing that it would only make her worse. He would gladly walk through the broken glass to get to her, but he thought that might freak her out even more.

Praying that he was doing the right thing, he ran back to the bedroom and shoved his feet into his sneakers, not waiting to do up the laces. He strode back to the kitchen and straight through the glass on the floor, snatching Mac up before she had a chance to run. She fought him like a wildcat, but he held her tightly to him, pinning her thrashing arms against his chest until he could lay her safely on the bed.

When he released her, she pulled her knees tightly up to her chest and rolled over so that her face was pressed into the comforter. The keening changed into hysterical sobs that shook her entire body. She was crying so hard that Will was surprised she could still breathe.

_Hell_. Habib had told him that Mac's defenses would come crumbling down all by themselves, but he hadn't warned him how fucking awful it would be when they did.

He reached out a hand to rub Mac's back, but she flinched away from him, so he just sat there, helpless, watching her weep.

It seemed like forever, but actually it was only about fifteen minutes by the bedroom clock, when Mac's sobs started to trail off. Eventually, they stopped all together, and she flopped over on her back and looked up at Will. Her eyes were red and swollen, and so very sad.

"Make love to me, Billy?" she asked tremulously.

"What?" It was the absolute last thing that he had expected her to say.

"Please? I need to feel something that isn't fear."

"Are you sure Mac?"

She nodded and reached out her bandaged arms to him.

He took a deep breath. His guts were still twisted in knots from listening to her cry, but he could do this. He could do anything for Mac. Slowly, gently, he ran his hands over her shoulders and down to her elbows. He trailed gentle butterfly kisses over the smooth white skin of her décolletage, being careful to avoid the bruises.

He was starting to get aroused, despite her injuries, because Mac always had that effect on him, but she was lying on the bed, tense and unresponsive.

He lifted his head. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Mac?"

"Don't do it like that, Billy," she replied

"Like what?" he asked, a little hurt.

"Like I'm broken. Make love to me the way you normally do, like you're so hot for me that you just can't stand it anymore."

"Jesus, Mac," Will groaned, running a hand through his hair. He knew he should be used to Mac pushing him to do impossible things by now, but seriously, how the fuck was he supposed to do that? "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I trust you Billy."

Oh fuck, now she was doing the doe eyes at him, and biting her lip too. He was screwed.

He sighed, and reapplied himself to the task. Her lips weren't hurt, so he kissed her more passionately, while his hands sought out the places that he knew would drive her wild. He had his reward when he felt the first stirrings of her arousal. He waited until she was writhing beneath his hands, and then kicked off his pants and helped her out of her shorts. She held out her arms to him again, but he shook his head. There was no way in hell he was going to lay his six foot three, 220 pound frame on top of her bruised, battered body. He knew Mac wasn't as fragile as her delicate bone structure suggested, but she was only just starting to heal, dammit.

He rolled over onto his back and pulled her to straddle him. He remembered what Habib had said about Mac needing control, so he stroked her legs gently while she sank down onto him, and allowed her to set the pace.

As she rode him at her own speed, he looked up at her, full breasts bouncing under the thin cotton of her tank top, face screwed up in concentration as she sought release for both of them, and for the first time since Monday he could see past the bruises to _her_. She was still there, his Mac. They might just make it.

She started to tighten around him, and rational thought became impossible. His calves spasmed and his hips came up off the bed, lifting her high, as he came so hard that he almost blacked out. Mac collapsed on top of him, panting. He gathered her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. "God, I love you, Mac. I never want to be apart from you. But I'm going to be asleep in about fifteen seconds. You've knocked me out."

He drifted off to the sound of her throaty, satisfied chuckle and the feel of her warm, soft body pressed against his chest.

xxxxx

He opened his eyes some time later to find Mac leaning over him, her brown eyes inches from his blue ones. "Fuck them," she said forcefully.

"Huh, what?" said Will, rubbing his eyes. Mac had a point, it _was _creepy to wake up and find someone staring at you. Besides, he had absolutely no idea who she was talking about.

"You know, _them. _Fuck them."

Oh, _them_. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to mention the kidnappers' names to each other, even though the FBI had positively identified them. Apparently they were a couple of tech school drop outs and petty fraudsters who'd graduated to the big time when they'd decided to snatch Mac.

"I couldn't agree more," said Will, meaning it.

Mac nodded, her hair flopping into her eyes as she expanded on her point. "They're dead and I'm alive. We're both alive. It's time to start living again."

"Okay…" he said slowly, not quite sure where she was going with this.

"I want to go back to work on Monday." Mac sat back on the bed and squared her shoulders, raising her eyebrows at him in that way that just dared him to argue with her.

Will sat up too and reached for her hands, cradling them gently in his much larger ones. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Mac looked down at her bandaged wrists. "Probably not. I mean, my hands are still pretty useless for most things, I can't even make breakfast for God's sake—"

Will raised her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers gently. Tears pooled in her eyes and she jerked her hands away, wiping impatiently at her cheeks.

"So my hands are stuffed," she continued, refusing to be diverted, "and when I try to read anything I just go over the same paragraph again and again, without any meaning actually registering in my brain, so I have no idea how I'm going to put a half-way decent run down together , but I have to try," she finished belligerently.

Will stroked her cheek, leaning in to give her a soft kiss on the lips. "Aren't you scared, Mac?" he said, getting right to the heart of the matter.

She gave a bitter laugh. "I'm fucking terrified. Honestly Will, I can't imagine a day when I'll be able to walk down the street by myself without fearing that someone is going to snatch me again. The way I feel right now, I just want to stay holed up inside our apartment forever. But we can't live like that. Besides," she said, with just a hint of a smile, "I'm sure that you and Charlie have found a way to turn our newsroom into Fort Knox."

Will tilted his head and gave her a rueful look. She knew him so well. "We talked Leona into installing a second security checkpoint where you step out of the elevator on our floor," he admitted. "No one gets past unless they're personally vouched for by a News Night staffer."

Mac nodded.

"You're not going to argue?"

Mac shook her head and snuggled into his lap, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "I know I should," she said against his chest, "but I think my chances of concentrating on work are better if I don't spend the whole day jumping every time someone opens my office door."

Will pulled her tightly to him, enjoying the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest and her pert ass settling into his groin. He groaned. He'd always loved touching Mackenzie, but since the kidnapping, it was like an addiction. He just couldn't get enough of holding her.

"What about reporting on the kidnapping?" he asked reluctantly. He didn't want to destroy her nascent confidence, but he also wanted to protect her from the possibility of a very public meltdown in the middle of the bullpen.

"I've thought about that, too," she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were all wide and sad again, and he tried to kiss the hurt away, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips. "It's okay, Billy. It'll be a week by the time we go back on Monday, so the story should have just about run its course by then. I doubt that the officers will have to face a public trial, no matter what the doctor said. I'll get an intern to go through my newspapers every morning before I read them and cut out any mention of the kidnapping, so that there won't be any grenades waiting for me first thing. If we do have to cover the story, Elliot can do it as a pre-tape, with Don EP'ing. It wouldn't be professional for you to report on it, even if you wanted to."

Will shuddered at the thought of reporting on Mac's kidnapping. "I'll have to say something about the manifesto, though."

"I know," she said, kissing his cheek. "We'll do it the first night, just rip it off like a band aid. I'll be in your ear the whole time."

Will felt tears forming in his own eyes. He was humbled by Mac's strength, by her willingness to expose herself to pain to support him. "What do I say?" he whispered.

"Apologise for reading the manifesto—"

"But I'm not sorry. I'd do it again if I had to. I'd do _anything_ to protect you, Mac." His arms tightened involuntarily around her until she gave a small squeak. He released her immediately.

"Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry. Are you okay, sweetheart?" he flustered, searching her face intently for any hint of pain.

"I'm fine, Billy. Stop fussing. If you don't want to apologise for reading it, just apologise for any offence given. You can do that, can't you?"

"Of course."

"Okay, so apologise, thank the FBI and the NYPD for getting me out, acknowledge all the well wishes and make it clear that we're taking steps to ensure that such a situation can never happen again." Mac paused. "I assume we are taking steps?"

Will nodded. "Leona's working on a policy with the other networks."

"Good," said Mac. "That's settled, then."

Will shook his head. She obviously hadn't lost her ability to railroad him into doing exactly what she wanted. And now she was distracting him by wiggling in his lap in the most provocative manner. He felt himself growing hard.

"What exactly do you think you're doing, Mrs McAvoy?" he asked with a slow grin.

"Exactly what you think I'm doing," she told him, pushing him back on the bed and following him down with a smile.

xxxxx

They watched News Night together that night, sitting up in bed with their favorite Indian takeout and a bottle of wine. Mac had called Jim earlier and asked him to email her the rundown, so they knew that there wouldn't be any mention of the kidnapping so long as they skipped the A block.

Will put down his plate half way through the C block and looked over at Mac. She was peering intently at the screen, unnaturally quiet. Her belief that no-one could do News Night as well as she could was unshakable, and probably true besides. Normally she'd be yelling at the screen by now, picking on Elliott for not being Will, or finding imaginary errors in the graphics.

"Are you okay, hon?" he asked. Maybe it was too much for her, too soon.

She looked over at him, her brow creased with puzzlement. "There's something off about the anchor desk," she told him. "Maybe I'm going crazy, but it looks different somehow."

Will ran a hand through his hair. He'd instructed Charlie to get a new desk made that was identical to the old one, but he should have known that they wouldn't fool Mac. No detail of their show was too small for her to notice.

"It's a replacement desk," he confessed sheepishly. "I, uh, broke the old one."

"You _broke_ the old one?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I kinda smashed it up. You know, after I read the manifesto."

"Oh Billy." He could see the compassion in her eyes, but then they started to twinkle and she let out a small giggle. She hurriedly pressed her hand to her mouth, but another giggle escaped, and then she was bent over laughing.

Part of Will was glad to see it. He'd been beginning to wonder if she would ever laugh again. But part of him was hurt, too. He hadn't destroyed the anchor desk for his own amusement. Didn't she understand that the toxic brew of terror and rage swirling inside him at that moment had threatened to bring him to his knees if he didn't let it out?

"Mac, it's not funny." He didn't want to be like Sloan, harping on about how frightened he had been when Mac was the one tied up in a cellar, but he needed her to understand. "They had you. I know it was so much worse for you, but it was pretty bad for me too. I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I didn't know if they were torturing you even as I was reading out the manifesto. I've never felt so helpless in my whole life. And the desk was right in front of me—"

"I'm sorry, Will," she said, pulling him towards her. "I'm not laughing at your pain, I promise." She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. "It's just that you're like a naughty schoolboy sometimes, thinking he won't get caught with the mouse squirming in his pocket. Did you really think I wouldn't notice a new anchor desk? I spend at least five hours a week staring at that thing."

"And here I thought you were staring at me," he grumbled. She giggled again, but this time he didn't mind so much.

They watched the show quietly for a few more minutes before Mac spoke again.

"I didn't tell you the worst part."

"What?" said Will, adrenaline zinging through him as his body instantly went on high alert. Something worse had happened to her, something so bad that she hadn't told the FBI about it? But the doctor had said there was no sign of sexual assault, and Will was pretty sure he'd seen the full extent of her injuries.

"It's okay, Will, it's not what you're thinking," Mac hurried to reassure him. "It was the waiting."

"The waiting?" he echoed, not understanding.

"While I had something to do it was, not okay, because it was very far from okay, but it was bearable somehow. I had a plan, and I followed it the best I could. I didn't have too much time to think about the consequences."

"You're so brave, Mac," he told her, but she shook her head.

"I'm not brave, Will. After it was all done, and I'd written my message and they'd taken their photo, they left me there in the dark, tied up on the floor, and I was so terrified that I literally couldn't move."

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said, tightening his hold on her as she started to shiver. _Another lie_. It would never, ever, be okay, what they had done to her.

"It was only a few more hours," she continued, "but I didn't know that it was only going to be a few hours. Every second, I was hoping that you might see my message, that it might be enough to find me, that the hatch might burst open with cops coming to rescue me." She struggled to take a deep breath. "But every second, I was terrified that the hatch might open, that it might be _him_ coming down to finish what he started, and I couldn't stop imagining what it would be like, how helpless I would be with my arms tied behind me while he did _that _to my body_._"

Will wanted another desk to smash, but he pushed the feeling down and held her more firmly. He was pretty sure she needed to get this all out now, and she didn't need to deal with his reaction on top of everything else.

"And then there was the third option, that they would just go away and leave like he'd said, and that eventually I would realise that there was nothing more to wait for, that I was going to die there, alone, tied up in my own filth, and that I would never see you again." She started to cry.

He pressed kisses into her hair as each sob tore at his heart. He didn't know what to say to her. There were no words.

"Do you know how I got through it?" she asked him a few minutes later, looking up at him with tear drenched eyes. He shook his head. He had no idea how she'd come out the other side with her sanity intact.

"I kept telling myself that I was waiting for you, and that I was good at waiting for you. I'd done it for three years, after all—"

Will groaned. "Mac, I'm so sorry, I don't know how you can ever forgive me—"

"Ssshhh, you know it was my fault that time, but it wasn't this time, and I told myself that if I could just wait a little longer, you would find me, and I would be in your arms again, just like I am now."

"Mac, I know I couldn't see you clearly all those years when you were right in front of my face, but I would go to the ends of the earth now to find you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, Billy. I love you."

"I love you too, Mac."

On the screen at the end of their bed, Elliott wished everyone a good weekend and thanked them for watching, but Will and Mac didn't hear him. The big, scary world might be waiting for them on Monday, but for now, their one little room was their everywhere, and they were content to be its only inhabitants.

* * *

_Final paragraphs are impossible to write, so I paraphrased this one from John Donne. I hope he wouldn't mind!_

_If ever any beauty I did see,  
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee._

_And now good-morrow to our waking souls,  
Which watch not one another out of fear;  
For love, all love of other sights controls,  
And makes one little room an everywhere._


End file.
